'Why, thank you.'
'Right-that's the flirting out of the way.' His eyes glittered. 'Now what shall we talk about?'
Shelley raised her eyebrows. 'Flirting? Is that what we were doing? Rather an unsophisticated version of flirting, I would have thought.'
'I bow to your superior knowledge, of course,' he said mockingly.
To Shelley's everlasting relief, the waiter appeared. 'Are you ready to order, Mr Glover?'
'Not quite. Give us five minutes, would you, please?'
The waiter went away again and Shelley quickly picked up her menu, then looked over the top of it into a pair of sapphire eyes. He certainly seemed at ease in such a lavish setting. 'What is it with the Mr Glover bit?' she asked him. 'They seem to know you pretty well here. Don't tell me you're a regular, Drew?'
'You'd find that surprising, would you?'
'Well, yes, I would-to be honest.'
His eyes were questioning. 'Because?'
'Well, it's very expensive, isn't it? And I know that you make a good living from carpentry, but … ' Her voice tailed off, slightly embarrassed, and he gave her another bright, searching stare which somehow had the ability to make her feel very uncomfortable indeed.
'But I'm not Bill Gates, right?'
She shrugged. 'Right!'
He slitted his eyes. 'Like I said-I've done a lot of work for them over the years-and that's how they know me. In fact-' and he lowered his voice by a fraction '-they give me a discount, too!'
'Oh, I see!'
He smiled thinly. 'So mind you look out for my handiwork!'
She looked around the restaurant. It was full, which was surprising for a Sunday evening in October. Even more surprising was the fact that Shelley didn't recognise one face in the place. Not one. And people were dressed in clothes which she instantly recognised as costly. A bit like Drew's, she realised. It looked more like a big-city restaurant, she thought in surprise, than one perched on an isolated part of the south sea coast in a small village.
'I don't recognise any locals in here either,' she observed.
'They're not. People travel some way to eat here. Great food, great view-with enormous beds upstairs should the urge take you.' He looked at her deliberately. 'What more could you ask for?'
Shelley began to look around the room with an air of quiet desperation. This wasn't going to be as easy as she had thought.
'Anyway-I can tell you've worked here,' she said brightly.
He raised his eyebrows. 'Really?'
'Of course I can! Somebody's obviously been slogging their guts out on the place-and you always were a brilliant craftsman! This hotel always had the potential to be beautiful, but it needed lots of tender loving care spent on it. Now there has been, and it shows. Why, I expect they could almost employ you here full-time, couldn't they, Drew?'
He seemed to be struggling between controlling his temper and controlling his laughter. 'Have you any idea,' he asked eventually, 'just how patronising you sound?'
She looked at him in surprise. 'Patronising?' she echoed. 'How on earth would that be patronising?'
He gave a small shake of his head. 'Doesn't matter. Here comes the waiter. What do you want to eat?'
Slightly bemused by the tone of his voice, Shelley glanced down at the menu. She noticed that she had been given a copy without any prices. Very slick. 'It all looks good,' she commented approvingly. 'Small and simple.'
'What were you expecting after Milan? A list of out-of-season food which was obviously destined for the microwave before it reached us?' he enquired cynically.
'You're being very defensive, Drew!'
'I wonder why?' he mocked, then smiled at the waiter. 'I'll have the soup followed by the roast cod and chips, please. Shelley?'
'Chef's salad and a plain grilled sole, please,' she answered automatically.
'Scrub that. She'll have the same as me,' he told the waiter. 'You know how women fuss so much about their weight! So unnecessary-particularly in your case, kitten.' And he winked at her expansively across the table.
'Yes, Mr Glover!' The waiter smiled conspiratorially and scribbled the order down.
Only good manners prevented her from arguing the toss, but once the waiter had gone Shelley felt like hurling the contents of the bread basket at him. She leaned across the table towards him. 'I can't believe you just did that,' she hissed. 'But then I'd forgotten just how over-bearing and domineering you could be!'
'Don't make a scene in public,' he answered mildly.
'Well, you started it!'
'Trust me.' He looked at her. 'When did you last eat?'
She thought back. 'I had breakfast.'
'Which was what?'
'The usual. Fruit and yoghurt.'
'Exactly. And since then you've driven from London to Milmouth, walked on the beach, had the trauma of going to your mother's house, driven up here, bathed-'
'You really have been spying on me, haven't you, Drew?'
He ignored that. 'You can't function properly if you don't give your body the fuel it needs.'
'What's wrong with my body?'
'I told you before. It's too skinny. Now drink a glass of this.' And he poured out a red wine which smelt enchantingly rich and powerful.
Shelley took a sip. It was.
'Better?'
'A bit,' she answered grudgingly as she felt herself beginning to relax.
'Now.' He leaned back in his chair and looked at her. 'Where do we start?'
She heard the slight edge in his voice and looked down at her cutlery, deliberately misunderstanding him. 'I think you just work from the outside in.'
'Very amusing!' He studied her from across the table. 'Though I suppose it wouldn't surprise you if I picked up my soup plate and started slurping from it?'
'Oh, there we are on the defensive again!'
'Only with you, kitten-only with you.'
She sighed and reached out for a bread stick. 'Just tell me what you want-'
'In full and aching detail?'
'Though maybe it's time I told you.' She snapped the bread stick cleanly in half and saw him wince. 'Shall I explain exactly what happened that night with Marco?'
'Why? Do you think it will change things?'
No, she didn't. Not change things in a fairy-story kind of way. But maybe change the way he felt about her. Eradicate some of the contempt. 'What did you imagine happened, Drew? It was an innocent evening, followed by an innocent kiss. That's all.'
'That's all?' The blue blaze of his eyes lanced her like a javelin. 'But you lied, Shelley. You lied to me. Didn't you?'
'Yes, I did!' she admitted. 'But think about why I lied! Because I was afraid of what you'd say if I told you the truth! I should have had the courage to do that, but I didn't. And don't you think that says a lot about the inequality in our relationship, Drew? That I didn't dare tell you I had made a stupid mistake?'
She had run from Marco's car and into her mother's house as though there had been demons on her heels. Which she supposed there had. And her mother had come downstairs to ask her what on earth was going on, alarmed when she saw Shelley's white face.
'Shelley, what's happened? What's wrong?'
'Nothing's wrong!' Shelley snapped. 'Nothing!'
'But-'
'Just leave me alone, Mum,' she begged. 'Please.'
Shaking uncontrollably, she locked herself in the bathroom and stripped all her clothes off and washed every bit of her body, scrubbing at her skin with soap and tepid water, like a punishment.
But the clothes felt tainted-she knew that she would never be able to wear them again. She stuffed them into a plastic bag and was just bundling them into the garbage when a tall figure appeared from out of the shadows in front of her.
She started with guilt. 'D-Drew,' she stumbled.
'What's the matter, Shelley?' His voice sounded low, soft, deadly. She had never heard him speak like that before.
'N-nothing's the matter,' she answered, much too brightly.
'Really? But your face is very white, and look … your hands are shaking.'
'Well, it's … it's cold.'
'Yes, it is,' he agreed. 'Far too cold to be putting the rubbish out, surely?'
She should have come clean then. Should have blurted out the truth and taken all the disdain and condemnation he was prepared to throw at her. Then maybe she would have earned his forgiveness. But she was frightened. Frightened of what she had done and how Drew would react if she tried to explain that one mad moment of stupidity. So she did the worst thing possible.
'Oh, well.' She licked her lips nervously. 'I just wanted to help my mother.'
'How sweet.' There was a pause. 'What are you throwing away?' he asked casually.
Shelley jerked. 'What?'
'You heard me. I asked what you were throwing away.'
And she made the lie a thousand times worse by attempting to put him down. 'Surely you aren't interested in the contents of my garbage bin, Drew?'
'So you're not going to tell me?'
'Drew!' Her heart was hammering.
'Let me see.'
'Drew-'
'Let me see.'
She turned away, her heart thumping so painfully that she thought she was about to die. But she didn't hear the rustle of plastic as Drew withdrew the package she had just put in the bin, and she turned round again to find that he hadn't moved. Misplaced hope made her look at him optimistically, praying that she had been given another chance.