Savage Awakening(7)

Matt inclined his head. 'Thanks.'

Diane managed a bright smile. 'My pleasure,' she said, restricting  herself to a quick squeeze of his arm. 'OK, you look after yourself,  right? I'll be in touch again in a couple of days.'

The words 'I'll look forward to it' stuck in Matt's throat and he gave a  rueful smile instead. 'You take care,' he said, as she picked up her  handbag and headed towards the front door.

'I will,' she replied, and he felt guilty when he heard the sudden break in her voice. 'Bye.'

'Bye,' he answered roughly. But he closed his eyes against the sudden  surge of relief he felt as the BMW crunched away down the drive.



'I've been thinking, perhaps I could build a run for Amy's rabbit in the  garden. That way, Harvey wouldn't be able to chase him. What do you  think?'

It was a couple of days later and Fliss was making a shopping list to  take to the supermarket in Westerbury when her father joined her. He had  spent most of the morning editing an article he was writing about the  need for care in the community, but now he came to lean on the table  next to her chair.

Fliss looked up in some confusion. In all honesty, although her fingers  were busy detailing the household goods and foodstuffs they needed, her  mind had been far away. Well, across the churchyard actually, she  conceded drily. Despite her resistance, Matthew Quinn had had that  effect on her.

'I'm sorry,' she said, blinking rapidly. 'What did you say?'

'The rabbit,' said her father patiently. 'I was wondering whether it  would be a good idea for me to build it an enclosure in the garden.'

'Oh.' Fliss endeavoured to get her brain in gear. She hesitated. 'Do you think you could?'

'I dare say.' He straightened and regarded the expanse of lawn beyond  the windows. 'We can't keep the poor thing trapped in its hutch all day,  can we?'

'I suppose not.' Fliss shrugged. 'Unless I take Buttons to the animal shelter while Amy's at school.'

'You wouldn't do that,' said her father firmly. 'OK. I think there are  some slats of wood in the shed. Perhaps you could get me a roll of  netting when you go into Westerbury. A couple of metres should be  enough.'

'More than enough,' agreed Fliss drily, hoping he wouldn't destroy her  flowerbeds in the process. She got to her feet. 'What shall we have for  lunch?'

It was a quarter to two when Fliss parked the Fiesta on the lot  adjoining a small retail park. A do-it-yourself outlet, an electrical  store, an auction warehouse-where Fliss sometimes liked to browse-and a  supermarket circled the central parking area. Fliss liked its location  because it was situated at the edge of town. It meant she didn't have to  negotiate the maze of one-way streets that characterised the central  part of the city.                       
       
           



       

It was hot, the grey spire of the cathedral rising tall and impressive  against the vivid blue of the sky. She knew she was lucky to live in  this part of the country. It was very busy at this time of year, of  course, with foreign tourists and more local traffic thronging the  streets and clogging up the main arteries. But it was worth it for the  times when there were no visitors, and she could walk along Cathedral  Close and visit the ancient church without being jostled by the crowds.

She had got what she needed from the supermarket and was stowing her  shopping in the car when she saw him. He was coming out of the auction  warehouse and, judging by the fact that the manager had accompanied him  outside, she guessed he'd bought something substantial.

Or maybe Harry Gilchrist had recognised him. Fliss knew the man who was  with him. Harry Gilchrist's son was in the same class as Amy at the  village school. A single father himself, he'd often tried to draw Fliss  into conversation. He evidently thought they had a lot in common, but  Fliss didn't encourage single men. Or married men, for that matter, she  thought wryly. She was happy the way she was.

Now, however, she wished she had been a little more friendly. Then she  might have felt free to saunter across the car park and exchange a few  words with him and Matthew Quinn. Just to find out what Quinn had been  buying, she assured herself firmly. Not with any idea of presuming on  what had been a very brief acquaintance.

In any case, Diane was probably with him, she thought. Just because she  wasn't visible at the moment didn't mean she wasn't around. It was the  most natural thing in the world that a couple who were planning on  setting up home together should look for suitable furniture. Yet,  knowing what she did of Diane, Fliss wouldn't have expected her to want  old-albeit valuable-furnishings.

Still …

She turned back to the car and finished packing her shopping into the  boot. It meant wedging things together, but she didn't want a jumble of  spilled goods when she got home. Then, closing the hatch, she  straightened-and looked directly into Matthew Quinn's eyes, staring at  her from across the car park.

For a moment she was immobilised by his gaze, which seemed more  penetrating than the brilliance of the sun beating down on her bare  head. Had he recognised her? Was that why he was staring at her? What  was she supposed to do about it? Smile? Wave? Ignore him? What?

The dilemma was taken out of her hands when he nodded in her direction.  Yes, she thought, feeling the erratic quickening of her heartbeat, he  had recognised her. She felt ridiculously gratified that in spite of  Diane's hostility he did remember who she was. But then, it had only  been a couple of days since he'd seen her. And he had been a journalist,  after all.

She'd confirmed his identity by following her father's example, when he  was researching a story for his column, and checked the Internet. And,  although the pictures they'd shown of him didn't compare to the way he  looked now, she'd been left in no doubt that he was the same man. He'd  been gaunt-featured and skeletally thin when he'd returned from his  imprisonment in Abuqara, but the strength of character and intelligence  in his face had been unmistakable.

She hadn't told her father who he was, however. She'd consoled herself  with the thought that it wasn't her job to expose the fact that they had  a celebrity living in their midst. It was bound to come out sooner or  later. Maybe Harry Gilchrist would be the one to blow his cover. Just so  long as it wasn't her. For some reason, that was important.

Deciding that the netting her father had asked her to get could wait,  Fliss pulled her keys out of her pocket and started towards the driver's  door. It had suddenly occurred to her that she hadn't bothered to  change before she came out. In a white cotton vest and pink dungarees  that fairly screamed their chain-store origins she'd be no match for  Diane in her expensive designer gear. She wasn't a vain woman, but she  had her pride. She had no desire to allow the other girl to embarrass  her again.

She swung open the car door, but before she could get inside, she heard  someone call her name. Matthew Quinn was striding across the tarmac  towards her and there was no way she could pretend she hadn't noticed  him.                       
       
           



       

Once again, she was impaled by the distracting intensity of his gaze,  and she found herself turning to press her back against the car, holding  on to the handle of the door with nervous fingers.

'Mr Quinn,' she said, clearing her throat as her voice betrayed her. But  in narrow-fitting chinos and a black T-shirt, he made her nerves  tingle, his dark eyes and hard features more familiar than they should  have been. 'How-how are you?'

'I'm getting there,' he said drily, regarding her so closely she was  sure no aspect of her appearance had gone unremarked. 'How about you?  How's-what's its name-Buttons getting on?'

'Oh-he's OK.' Fliss wondered if anyone would believe they were standing  here having a conversation about a rabbit. She swallowed, forcing  herself to look beyond him. 'Is Diane with you?'

'No.' He didn't elaborate. 'Are you heading home now?'

'Yes.' Fliss lifted her shoulders awkwardly. 'You don't need a lift, do you?'

'Would you have given me one?' he enquired, a trace of humour in his  voice, and Fliss felt her cheeks heat at the deliberate double entendre.

'Of course,' she replied, refusing to let him see he'd disconcerted her.  'Well, if you don't need my help … ' She glanced behind her. 'I suppose  I'd better be going … '

'Do you have time for a coffee?'

If she'd been disconcerted before, his question caught her totally unawares and she gazed at him with troubled eyes. 'A coffee?'

'Yeah.' His mouth turned down. 'You know, an aromatic beverage beloved of our so-called civilised society?'

'I know what coffee is,' she said a little stiffly.

'Well, then … ?'

Fliss hesitated. She was getting the distinct impression that he was  already regretting the invitation, but he'd made it now and he'd stand  by it.