He didn’t get to finish this set of thoughts as the woman called Isabel popped her head around the door and offered them afternoon tea.
Arthur looked at his watch. ‘Thank you so much, Isabel, but I’m afraid I won’t have time. Penny wants me home by four.’ He paused. ‘What about you, Harriet? We did come in separate cars,’ he explained to Damien.
Harriet hesitated and glanced at Damien. And because most of his mental sensors seemed to be honed in on this tall, slender girl, he saw the tension creep back as she picked up her purse and her knuckles whitened.
And he heard himself say something he hadn’t expected to say. ‘If you’d like a cup of tea, stay by all means, Miss Livingstone. We haven’t finished the interview anyway.’
She hesitated again then thanked him quietly.
Isabel retreated and Arthur, looking visibly harassed, subjected them to an involved explanation of why he needed to be home. Plus he was obviously reluctant to miss any of the verbal duel he was witnessing. But he finally left. And the tea tray arrived but this time Damien introduced the bearer as his aunt Isabel, and invited her to join them.
‘Sorry,’ Isabel said as she put the tea tray down on the coffee table set in front of the settee in a corner of the dining room, ‘but I’m popping into Lennox to pick up our dry-cleaning. Please excuse me, Miss Livingstone,’ she added.
Harriet nodded somewhat dazedly and once again the door closed, this time on his aunt.
‘I don’t think there’s anyone else who could interrupt us,’ Damien Wyatt said with some irony. ‘Do sit down and pour the tea.’
Harriet sank down onto the settee and her hand hovered over the tea tray. ‘Uh—there’s only one cup.’
‘I never drink the stuff,’ he said dismissively, ‘so pour yours and let’s get on with things.’
Harriet lifted the heavy silver teapot and spilt some tea on the pristine white tray cloth.
Damien swore beneath his breath, and came over to sit down beside her. ‘Put it down and tell me something, Harriet Livingstone—why are you doing this? No, wait.’
He picked up the pot Harriet had relinquished and poured a cup of tea without spilling a drop. Then he indicated the milk and sugar but she shook her head. ‘Th-that’s fine, just as it comes, thank you.’
He moved the cup and saucer in front of her and offered her a biscuit that looked like homemade shortbread.
She shook her head.
‘I can guarantee them. The cook makes them himself,’ he said.
‘Thank you but no. I—I don’t have a sweet tooth.’
He pushed the porcelain biscuit barrel away. ‘You look—you don’t look as sk— as thin as you did that day,’ he amended.
A flicker of amusement touched her mouth. ‘Skinny you were going to say? I guess I did. I lost a bit of weight for a time. I’ve probably always been thin, though.’
‘Sorry,’ he murmured. ‘But look, why are you doing this?’
Harriet hesitated and watched the steam rising gently from her tea.
‘You obviously haven’t forgiven me for the things I said that day,’ he continued. ‘Most of the time since you’ve been here you’ve been a nervous wreck or, if not that, beaming pure hostility my way. The only thing that seems to relax you is contact with my dog or my mother’s odds and ends.’