Because she was early, Yancie opted to wait in the car until just a few minutes before eight. She had only been sitting there for a short while, however, when the front door of the house opened, and a suited Thomson Wakefield came out.

Yancie left the car and had a bright, but courteous `Good morning' hovering on her lips-but it was totally not needed. `You can't sit out here in the cold for half an hour,' her employer clipped before she could say a word. 'You'd better come into the house.'

Chivalry was not dead, then! `I…' she opened her mouth to argue that, yes, she could, that the car was lovely and warm, then realised that to argue wasn't the way smart and courteous went.

'Good morning,' she said anyway, and was left, unanswered, to trail after him into his lovely home.

'Go and find my housekeeper and get her to make you a cup of coffee,' he decreed, pointing Yancie down a long and wide hall.

Yancie didn't want a cup of coffee. She opened her mouth to say as much, to refuse his invitation. Then supposed she had a lot to learn about this work environment business it wasn't an invitation, but an order.

She started down the hall; he crossed it to what she could see from the open door was a study. Another door was open further down the hall; she saw it was a drawing room, and went in. She'd wait there.

Yancie was staring out of one of the long windows-for all it was a murky wet morning, she could not help but admire the peace and tranquillity of the setting-when Thomson Wakefield, briefcase under one arm, an overnight bag in his hand, came into the room.

She turned at the small sound, and, feeling suddenly her old sunny self, but attributing it to the restfulness of his home, she gave him the benefit of her natural smile. `It's lovely here,' she said without thinking, and for a moment thought, as he stared at her, that he was about to smile back. Perish the thought.