'I'm sorry, I forgot to ask if you wanted a pudding,' Paul said. 'Or coffee . . .''Nothing more, thank you.'He paid the bill from an ancient, battered wallet of some soft leather from which the gilt flourish of his initials had almost worn away. The waitress, apparently satisfied with her tip, picked up their plates and departed.'Right.' He put away his wallet, and started to rise. 'Let's go . . .''Wait.' Amy stayed firmly where she was. 'I . . . I'm sorry I've left this till now,' she began, still awkward from his coolness of a few moments ago. 'I suppose it's because I've had a lot on my mind . . .''You want to pay your share?''Something like that,' she said, relieved to have the words spoken. 'How did you guess that was what I wanted to say?''I've had supper with one or two women before.''Oh.' Amy wondered why she should find that so surprising. He was an attractive man, of course he would know lots of women. She badly wanted to hear if he was currently seeing anyone, but e
'Does he really live alone in this great place?' Paul asked.'I agree it's miles too big for one person,' Amy said. 'He doesn't use half the rooms . . .' She broke off, hating to show that she knew the house from the inside, hating herself for knowing it. As she limped along at Paul's side, treasuring the warmth of his hand round hers, she wondered why her knee should suddenly feel so much worse. Could fear really have such a specific effect? But she wouldn't be afraid, she wouldn't.'He inherited it from grandparents, I think,' she added, trying to keep her mind on everyday things. 'He says it has happy memories of his childhood.'There, that helped, picturing Robert as a little boy with adoring grandparents. But the relief lasted only until she lifted her gaze to the broad window above and to the right of the entrance, the window of the bedroom where . . .No, she wouldn't think about that. Trying to keep her mind away from it, she stared instead at the little niche, sharp-edged in
'I'm sorry we've interrupted your dusting,' she said, polite as a visiting vicar. 'I don't suppose you get much time for chores, with your busy life.''I'd done most of it,' Sarah admitted ungraciously. 'You should have seen the dust and cobwebs - it was like Miss Havisham's wedding.''It . . . it certainly looks nice now,' Amy offered. 'Very welcoming.' She spoke from an half-conscious desire to conciliate, but quickly realized that what she said was true. Though the room might not be to everyone's taste it had a timeless, traditional charm which eased the eye and the spirit. With the fire lit and a trolley of homemade cakes and scones, it would be an agreeable place to be invited for afternoon tea.Sarah acknowledged the compliment only with an indeterminate noise, but dipped her head and regarded Amy from below thick, dark, untrimmed eyebrows.The idea of tea inspired Amy to another gambit. 'You said you were baking?''Sponge cake,' Sarah answered.I knew it, Amy thought, amused in
He's not such a conventional dreamboat, Amy thought, but he's good to look at and much, much stronger.Especially now, when Robert was giving that phoney laugh at the mention of the police. Remembering how contemptuously he had always spoken of her drama lessons, Amy reflected as so often how much he could have learnt from just one of them. He really was a lousy actor.Tolice? I don't think so,' he said. 'Anyway, who the hell are you?'He strode into the circle of chairs round the fireplace, turned his back on the empty grate, and belligerently straddled the hearthrug facing the couch. With his hands half-clenched at his side he loomed over the seated Paul as if he might any minute pull him up and knock him down.'What makes you think,' he demanded, 'that you can come into my house and threaten my . . . my wife like this?''I'm one of the Clarks,' Paul responded, coolly stating his interest.Robert's mouth set in a mulish line. 'I don't know what you're talking about.''Oh, come on .
'This afternoon?' In his relief he slumped back like an unstrung puppet. 'I was in a meeting all afternoon. Two till five.''Who else was at it?' Amy asked.'Julius Drew.' Robert sat up straight again, and brought out the name of Lang and Drews' chairman with a certain grandeur. 'And his son Tommy. And some of the other branch managers.''Phew! Thank goodness for that.' Sarah demonstrated her relief by fanning herself, a huge gesture that involved her entire forearm.She does everything on a big scale, Amy thought, and just as she feels it. No wonder she loves animals, she's as instinctive as they are. It came to her that Sarah's admiration for Robert's looks was another aspect of her feeling for animals. She appreciated him much as she would have appreciated the beauty of a horse, say, or a dog.'I never thought those stuffed shirts at Lang and Drews would be good for anything,' Sarah continued, 'but I see now they have their uses.'Amy wondered how even she dared say such things in
Suddenly she realized he was asking her a question. So he hadn't lost interest after all. He was asking where they went from here, which showed he thought they were going somewhere. I've got to get this right, she told herself desperately, and did her best to brush away the cobwebs of fatigue.'I . . . suppose I was sort of wondering that myself.''I could just take you to Stribble . . .''To Stribble?''It's where you live,' he reminded her with gentle sarcasm.'Yes.'Her new hope collapsed like a burst balloon. She had been wrong. He didn't want to talk about their future together, just about the simple, practical matter of where he should drive next. He wanted to know where he should take her before he put her down and left her, presumably forever.'That's right, please take me to Stribble,' she said, trying and failing to keep the leaden flatness from her voice. 'Thanks to you, I don't think I've anything more to fear from the Dawlishes.''Not from them, no.' He made no move to st
'Wha . . .' She lifted her heavy head above the exercise books and blinked, glad to be awake again. Gradually she managed to focus on the mug of dark amber liquid Paul had set before her on one of her green and gold placemats. He must have taken the mat from the table drawer right under her ear, that would explain the thunder noise.'Where's the milk?' she asked.'It helps better with shock if you have it without.'She turned to him with blurry indignation, the last of her nightmare fled. 'I'm not shocked.''Drink up,' he urged, quiet and steady as ever.'I never have tea without milk . . .' She stopped because she sounded so childishly crotchety, yet this was a serious objection. 'Without milk it'll be too hot. I won't be able to drink it for ages.''I cooled it.''How did you do that?''Added cold water.''You put cold water in my tea?There she went again, that childish whine. To cover her embarrassment she sipped the tea. Finding it surprisingly palatable and exactly the right tem
But then, she hadn't so much stayed as simply spent two nights in Paul's austere little spare room. She had left at eight each morning and returned at ten each night too tired to do more than drag herself to bed; so tired that tiredness seemed a way of life; so tired that events and ideas and imaginings ran together in her brain and would not be separated into their individual parts.If she worked at it she could dredge up a vague memory of her first arrival here. Paul had helped herout of his van and guided her across the narrow street, and the outside air must have brought her round a bit. She could remember the wet pavement, and the shuttered shopfront, and the question she had asked about the name on the fascia.'Why Gemini? Is it your birth sign?'She was fairly sure he'd said no, he just liked the sound of it, but after that it all went vague again. They must have gone through the side door and up the walled-in stairs to the little landing, but she couldn't remember. He must ha