I didn’t trust myself to speak, but I managed to nod. I hadn’t given a great deal of thought to maternity leave; there didn’t seem much point as my job was only temporary anyway. Although if I was still around, I was sure I’d be able to do most things with a small baby in tow. But it was a moot point; if Jensen couldn’t be tempted back to Derbyshire, and Betsy wanted to relinquish responsibility, the vineyard would have to be sold. Simple as that.

‘Okay if I drop you here?’ the cab driver called through the Perspex screen. ‘Global Media is across the street.’

‘Thanks for lunch and the ring,’ I said, pressing a hasty kiss to Jensen’s cheek as I got out.

He handed me the cool bag. ‘You’ll be fantastic, good luck.’

‘Thanks. You too, with your meeting.’ I managed a smile and shut the door of the cab.

‘Lottie, I …’ He raked a hand through his hair; for a man who might be about to land his dream job he didn’t look very happy.

‘Cheer up, mate,’ the cabbie laughed, turning round to watch us. ‘I’m sure you’ll see her later.’

My heart twisted; would he? We hadn’t made arrangements for after my interview. And I guessed if he did get the big job he was hoping for he’d have a lot more important things to think about than me and my plans for pink wine.

‘I’d better go,’ I said, half hoping he’d leap from the taxi and snog me senseless. He didn’t. But at the last second, just as the cab pulled away, he launched his head out of the window.

‘Lottie! Wait for me,’ he yelled. ‘I might be a while but wait for me here. Okay?’

‘Okay!’ I yelled back, my spirits soaring once again, and I waved madly until his taxi had melted into the stream of traffic.

‘Hi there?’ a polite voice called from behind me. ‘Lottie?’

I turned to see Olivia Channing jiggling on the spot.

‘I thought it was you,’ she said, darting over to give me a hug. ‘Ready for the onslaught?’

‘That sounds ominous.’

She took in my cool bag. ‘I hope you’ve brought some Butterworth wines to win him round? Good effort.’

‘I thought this was a friendly chat about English wine.’ I stared at her. ‘You’re making it sound like some sort of battle.’

She laughed and looped my arm through hers. ‘Thomas Devine hates English wine, everyone knows that.’

My scalp prickled with fear.

‘Not everyone,’ I said with a gulp.

Just what had I let myself in for this time?

Chapter 27