'Oh?' he queried, and she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her.

'I'll move!' she said abruptly, reaching for her shoulder bag which she'd draped over her chair.

'You're not comfortable here?' he enquired smoothly.

'I've just realised I should be sitting somewhere else,' she said, getting up. `You should?"

'Do your drivers usually sit with you on these sort of trips?' she asked hurriedly. `Shouldn't I be sitting in some lowly corner?'

A muscle moved at the side of his mouth, as if she had amused him. But he didn't smile but, still in that same even tone, advised, `Sit down, Miss Dawkins; I just don't see you ever sitting in some lowly corner.'

She wasn't sure what she was supposed to make of that, but hesitated to sit down again. `This is embarrassing,' she mumbled.

'Not half as embarrassing as it would be for me if you took yourself off and sat yourself elsewhere,' he assured her.

Yancie sat down. More, she began to realise-as she ate her way through cereal, bacon and egg, followed by toast and marmalade because finding so unexpectedly that Thomson Wakefield, her taciturn employer, had a great deal of charm.

What else could it be but charm that had made him say he'd be embarrassed if she didn't breakfast at the same table? It wouldn't bother him a scrap if she moved to another table and left him sitting there. From what she knew of him, she'd have said he wouldn't give a hoot where she ate-or whatever table she left his to go and eat at. She could go and perch on the roof for all he cared.

They did not hang about once breakfast was over. But, on the road to London once more, Yancie started to discount entirely that she had for a moment thought Thomson Wakefield had an ounce of charm. He'd got his head stuck in some paperwork-plainly only needing a driver so he didn't waste precious working time by having to drive himself-and had barely moved himself to do more than grunt at her since then.

She glanced at him in the rear-view mirror-his eyes seemed to be focused somewhere at the back of her head. He flicked his eyes upwards-and gave her a sour look. Yancie studied the road up in front, and took pains not to look at her passenger again. Until, that was, about an hour later when the car phone rang.

Her eyes shot in panic to the mirror, and met his full-on. And, of course, he knew what her panic was about. Because, even as he was reaching for the instrument, he was enquiring, `Are you in if it's your mother?' Sarcastic swine!

Fortunately, he then gave his attention over to the telephone call, which was for him, and she was spared having to make any reply. All too clearly Thomson thought she was the one who had given her mother this telephone number-Yancie wasn't likely to tell him that she hadn't. He must never know that it had been Greville and that Greville Alford was her halfcousin. From there Thomson would quickly, and rightly, conclude it was only because of Greville that she had been taken on by Addison Kirk.

Yancie dropped her passenger off just after two. She would have been a little earlier but, as he had on the outward journey, Thomson had insisted she have a coffee break after a couple of hours of driving.

Yancie supposed she could have driven the Jaguar straight to the garage once she had said goodbye to her employer-no `Thank you very much, your driving is excellent', she noticed. On the other hand he hadn't told her-as she was sure he would if it were so-that her driving was lousy and that he'd be reporting it to her head of section. So, she must be thankful for small blessings.

Knowing her mother would be ringing round to trace her if she didn't turn up in answer to yesterday's summons, Yancie decided to drive over to see her mother first.

'You've taken your time!' was her greeting when she got there.

'I'm sorry, I…'

'Come and meet Henry; we've just finished lunch. And what's this I hear about you moving out?'

Oh, heck. `You know about…'

'I tried to phone you this morning. I smelt something fishy when Ralph told me to try Delia's. He eventually told me you'd moved out, but wouldn't say where to. Delia was out when I rang her and I'd mislaid your car phone number-and I couldn't get Greville.' Thank goodness for that! `So, what happened to make you leave home? I told Ralph he should be ashamed…'

'It wasn't Ralph's fault!' Yancie cut in quickly. 'Um-the house just wasn't big enough for both Estelle and me, so…'

'She always was a stroppy madam. You should have… Ah, here's Henry!'

Her mother was all smiles suddenly, and although Henry Ottaway, a portly little man, was pleasant enough he didn't have Ralph Proctor's gentle manner. What he did have, however, was a Rolls outside, and, knowing her mother's propensity for spending, Yancie guessed her mother had run through Ralph's handsome settlement, and was now out to replenish her stocks. Yancie felt saddened that she should think that way-but years of knowing her mother had only endorsed that the only person Ursula Proctor would ever love was Ursula Proctor.

Yancie stayed and had tea with them then both her mother and her soon-to-be new stepfather came out to the car with her, her mother inspecting the registration plate, murmuring under her breath, `Ralph Proctor might have bought you a new one!'

The car was less than a year old! Yancie drove back to the home she shared with her cousins, her mother never ceasing to amaze her. Yancie had considered taking the Jaguar back to the firm's garage, but since Astra had a perfectly good spare garage going begging, and since Yancie would be one of the first in at Addison Kirk tomorrow, it hardly seemed worthwhile. Besides which, by taking the car home she wouldn't have to mess about with public transport.

Yancie had only just finished telling Fennia and Astra about her dinner with dear Charlie Merrett, when her half-cousin Greville, full of apologies, rang to speak to her.

'Don't worry, Greville.' She smiled down the phone to him. 'I'm sure you couldn't have done anything else.'

'You know your mother's tactics resemble water wearing away stone. I did hold out as long as I could. Did she reach you?"

'Yes-but it wasn't a problem,' Yancie quickly tried to assure him.

'That's good. I was hoping you'd either not be in the car when she rang, or be parked up somewhere. It was the tears that did it.'

'Tears?"

'I thought Aunt Ursula was about to break down in tears when she said how she'd tried everywhere.'

Poor Greville. He couldn't bear to see, or in this case hear, a woman in tears. `Apparently you had a terrific party,' Yancie swiftly changed the subject.

During the week that followed, Yancie was out and about driving many times. She chauffeured Mr Clements a couple of times, and other directors. And once her half-cousin Greville. But never did she drive Thomson Wakefield. She knew from other drivers that he'd been out and about, though.

It was every bit as if, having satisfied himself that she was a decent driver, Thomson had no further use for her services. And that slightly upset Yancie. She would go into work each day feeling quite excited about what the day might bring-and go home each evening feeling quite flat. Though she was positive that it had nothing to do with her not seeing Thomsonn that day.

Yancie spent a lacklustre weekend, and was driving the Jaguar after dropping her passenger on a local call the following Monday when the car phone rang. She pulled into the side of the road to answer it, and heard her mother's voice. Oh, crumbs; so much for her wishing this number would stay mislaid!

'Since you're already out and about, do you think you could come and pick me up?' No way! I'm working! But her mother didn't know that! `Where are you? I'm at home and my car's in for a service.'

Yancie started to frame her refusal, but then realised she could probably get to her mother's and drop her off where she wanted to go without a soul being any the wiser.

'I can pick you up,' she agreed. `Can you make your own way back?'

'I'm meeting your aunt Portia for lunch she can drive me home.'

Yancie put down the phone and raced over to her mother's home-only just remembering as her mother came out of the house that she was wearing a badge that proclaimed 'Yancie Dawkins, Transport Department, The Addison Kirk Group'. Swiftly Yancie unfastened her tag and stowed it away. But, while luck might have been with her on that occasion, it deserted her totally not long afterwards.

They were in the centre of London in the middle of slow-moving traffic with her mother in the front passenger seat and Yancie listening to her talking at length while at the same time watching the car in front. When suddenly and why she looked over to the pavement at that particular moment she never afterwards knew-but just as all the traffic halted, look across she did, just as a tall, dark-haired business-suited man came out from a building and, his glance searching, quite obviously ready to hail a taxi, he saw instead the Jaguar he'd been a rear-seat passenger in not two weeks ago. Oh, no! Of all the foul luck! Yancie wanted to look away, to pretend she hadn't seen him. Indeed, had the traffic been free-flowing, she might well have put her foot down and shot off.

But no, Thomson Wakefield was looking straight at her-his glance taking in her flawlessly and expensively dressed passenger. He started to come over-and a riot of emotions played havoc in Yancie.

Without so much as a by-your-leave-and why would he?-Thomson opened the rear passenger door and got in. Her mother, never at a loss for words, was the first to speak. `Do you very much mind?' she demanded in cultured superior tones.

Yancie, her face scarlet with mortification, quickly found her voice. `Mother, let me introduce Thomson Wakefield. Thomson…' Oh, grief! Too late now. Yancie ploughed on. `My mother, Mrs Ursula Proctor.'