Gravely, Randal said, 'But you'd be a foreigner, far away from home-it wouldn't be an easy life and you would have to speak French all the time. It can be difficult to be accepted into the local community. I'd think very carefully about going to work there.'
The waiter returned with their first course: a whole ogen melon, with a lid carved out like petals, golden and ripe, chilled from the fridge, filled with a medley of soft fruit-cherries, peach, strawberries steeped in liqueur. Was it Kirsch? she wondered, rolling it round her mouth.
'I wasn't expecting it to be this good,' Randal said, tasting it too.
'Neither was I,' she admitted.
'But you said you knew this place pretty well, had been here a few times.'
'That's true, but the food wasn't this good when I ate here before. Maybe they have a new chef.' She ate a cherry. 'These must be imported; you won't be able to get fresh cherries here for a couple of months. Tom and I picked cherries in Kent last June when we were staying at a farm. Of course, Kent cherries are pink and cream, not dark red, like these.'
Randal's face tightened, a frown drawing his brows together. 'You know, what I can't understand is why on earth you let yourself come so close to marrying him. Surely your common sense warned you it would be the biggest mistake of your life if you went ahead with it?'
Defiantly, she retorted, 'We could have been very happy! What do you know?'
'You weren't in love with him, and I suspect he wasn't really in love with you, either! I didn't get the impression he was sick with passion.'
She looked daggers at him. 'You don't know Tom; he's a good man.'
'Good, but boring. Oh, come on, Pippa, you know he would never set the world on fire. How could you have been happy with him? Unless all you were looking for was a nice, quiet, comfortable life with a man who wouldn't ask for too much from you.'
She finished her melon and sat back, glowering. 'Will you please stop talking about it?'
'Maybe that really is what you want? A man who won't expect too much?'
Her skin was burning; she resented his comments. 'Look, thanks to you, my marriage is off so there's no point in discussing it any further, is there?'
'I'm just trying to work out your motivation,' he calmly told her, and she clenched her hands into fists on her lap, wanting to punch him.
'Mind your own business, will you? If I need a psychiatrist, I'll go and see one. I don't want you doing amateur work on my head.'
'You need to do some thinking! You're one of the most mixed-up women I've ever met! You have no idea about what goes on inside you, do you?'
She was about to snap back at him when the waiter appeared to take their plates away, so she closed her mouth and looked down while the man refilled their glasses. Pippa was startled to see she had drunk most of the white wine she had had in her glass. She had drunk it without realising what she was doing. It was strange; she had rarely before drunk much wine.
Maybe it was another way of running, fleeing from Randal Harding. She needed to muffle her senses, dull her nerve-ends. Escape.
She didn't want to think about what she needed to escape from.
As the waiter went away again Randal's supple, powerful hand stretched across the table to move the low vase of flowers between them so that he could see her more clearly.
'I'd like you to come with me to see my son-will you?'
Surprised, she looked up, green eyes wide, hesitated. 'I'm sure he would rather be alone with you. He must miss you, even if he does like the school.'
'I want him to know you, and I want you to know him.'
She stared at him, biting her inner lip. 'Oh. But … why … ?'
'Johnny rarely if ever sees his mother. I think he needs women in his life; I don't want him to grow up in an all-male world. It isn't healthy.
She couldn't argue with that. She believed children needed two parents-she knew she had needed, longed for that. 'But surely you have a sister? Or another female relative?'
She knew so little about him; his marriage had been a towering wall between them, and she had seen nothing beyond that.
Impatiently, he said, 'Why don't you want to meet my boy?'
'I didn't say I didn't it's just that I … ' Her voice trailed off. How could she tell him she was afraid to meet his son in case she grew fond of him? The child had already lost his mother; it would be cruel to let him get used to her, herself, only for her to vanish too one day.
'What?' he demanded relentlessly, those grey eyes boring into her like lasers. He wasn't giving up, and she didn't have the energy for another fight, so with a sigh she gave in.
'Oh, very well.' It was easier to agree now and make some excuse when the time came than to go on arguing.
He gave her that warm, charming, triumphant smile. She regarded him dryly, understanding the triumph. He loved to win. That much she did know about him.
'Good girl,' he approved. 'I'm sure you'll like him.'
'You've never told me much about him. What's he like?'
'Me,' he said, with self-satisfaction. 'He's very like me.'
Sarcastically she murmured, 'Oh, well, I'm sure he's gorgeous, then.'
Randal looked at her through his lashes with an intimate, mocking amusement, making her heart knock at her ribcage; she expected him to make some tart come-back, but at that moment their main course arrived and they began to eat.
They spoke very little; she wondered if he was sibecause he had achieved his objective in getting her to agree to meet his son, and no longer had much to say. That would be typical of him; he was a very focused man, concentrated on getting his own way.
When they had finished their main course Randal asked if she would like a pudding, but she shook her head.
'If I eat any more I'll never be able to sleep tonight.'
He nodded. 'I won't have anything else, either. Coffee?'
'No, that might keep me awake, too.' It was half past ten by then, and she couldn't stop yawning, so she was sure she would sleep, but coffee might be a mistake.
'Tired?'
She yawned again, nodded. 'Sorry. It has been a fraught day. I've used up all my energy.' She rose. 'I must get some sleep; I'll have a lot to do tomorrow. I'll go home, write to the insurance company and re-sign, and tell them I'm selling my home, then I must talk to an estate agent and put the cottage on the market.'
They walked up the wide, creaking stairs together a few minutes later. 'What time shall we have breakfast?' he asked, and she looked at him impatiently.
'You have it whenever you like!'
'I want to have it with you,' he said in a coaxing voice, giving her that smile.
'How do I know what time I'll wake up? I didn't ask for a wake-up call. I may sleep late.' They arrived at her door. Her key in her hand, she faced him, chin up. 'Goodnight.'
'Goodnight,' he said, turning away.
She breathed a little easier; she had had an uneasy feeling he might not go too readily and had been nerving herself for a fight. He turned the corner in the corridor and his footsteps faded. Putting the key in the lock, she opened the door and began to go into her room. A second later Randal was inside too and the door was shut. She hadn't even heard him coming.
Angrily, she blazed at him. 'Get out! How dare you? Do I have to scream the place down?'
Randal grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her hungrily, his mouth a sensual temptation. Head swimming, eyes closed, she swayed in his arms, trying desperately not to go under, struggling not to surrender to the physical glamour of his kiss, his touch, his body pressing against hers.
The trouble was, she could never fight her attraction to him. She might stay cool and collected when he was talking to her-she could fight her feelings so long as he didn't touch her. But as soon as she was in his arms she felt herself weakening, yielding to the powerful erotic sensations he awoke in her. Her mind could not control her body. She felt as though her brain was submerged beneath some level of consciousness her waking mind could not reach. She was helpless in the grip of a desire that beat inside her, deep and harsh and driven, sending wild vibrations through her and silencing all rational thought.
Slowly, Randal pulled his head back and looked down at her, and Pippa opened her eyes to stare back at him, shuddering.
'You kiss me like that, and yet you keep pretending you don't want me?' he whispered. 'What's going on inside that head of yours? We're both free now, there's nothing to keep us apart-so why are you still fighting it?'
CHAPTER SIX
She had asked herself the same question, ever since they'd met again, and she still wasn't sure of the answer. They were both free now, as he said. She wanted him, she couldn't deny it-and yet …
And yet for some reason she found herself backing away every time they came too close, and she didn't know why.