The Salaryman's Wife(27)

“About lawyers in America?”

“No. About how you grew up and came here to blaze a trail through the blackboard jungle.”

Since he was making fun of me, I wouldn’t. Never at a loss for words, he launched into his own stories about how he had grown up in a small village in the Lowlands, studied at Glasgow University, and practiced law for two years in London before signing with an international firm. By thirty-two, he’d consulted for companies in Barcelona, New York, Düsseldorf, and Buenos Aires; Tokyo was his first posting in Asia.

“Where does your wife live?” I asked, having heard on the Tokyo grapevine that Brits never wore their wedding rings.

“I’m alone. I thought it was obvious.” He looked slightly amused, as if he sensed the real motivation behind my question.

“Given your age I would expect one.” I still didn’t know how much to believe about him.

“I’m not that old. I’m practically a member of Generation X.” He cleared his throat. “Actually, I’m not very successful with women. The ones I know want country houses and babies instead of city flats and ski holidays. Besides, who could tolerate moving every eighteen months?”

“Poor guy,” I said, refusing to rise to his barb about women. What was I expected to do, tell him I was his kind of girl? My nervousness accelerated when he picked up the check the waitress had left dead-center between us.

“I’d really like to pay,” he said when I also reached for it.

“It’s not as if I’m impoverished,” I said, struggling to read upside down and calculate my share.

“Since you refuse to tell me anything about your background in America, what can I do but assume that?” Hugh peeled money out of his clip.

“Assume away, then,” I said as we slid into the taxi. The driver had preceded us outside and already had it warmed up. I closed my eyes and settled in for the long ride home.

“Why the secrets? I know less about you than anyone at the inn,” Hugh complained.

“Could you go a little more slowly, please?” I begged the driver, who was zipping through down-hill turns as if there were no snow or ice anywhere. A familiar, unpleasant feeling was beginning in my stomach and I now regretted the distance and topography between Shiroyama and Furukawa.

“At least tell me why you came to the Alps by yourself for a holiday. If you ask me, you’re the suspicious one.”

“Look, I can’t talk about this.” Perspiration broke out on my forehead as the taxi went into a start-stop routine waiting to enter the freeway. Once we got on, it would be only twenty kilometers home. I should be able to survive that.

“You’re sick?”

Hugh’s intuition surprised me. In a low voice, I said, “I’m sorry. Maybe I should get him to drop me off where there’s a train station. I do better in steady vehicles—”

“The best thing is to rest. Here, I volunteer my shoulder.”

I could not let myself vomit on his beautiful suit, I thought, backing as far as possible into the corner, resting my head against the hard glass window. The vibrations were jarring, so I allowed my head to slump against the seat back covered by a polyester doily. Then I felt Hugh’s hand in my hair.

“Much better,” he murmured, pulling me firmly against his shoulder. It was surprisingly comfortable, cozier still when he arranged his shearling jacket over me. His neck smelled very good, a mixture of soap and leather and something indefinable. “Do you want the window open?”

“Yes. Thank you.” I was able to get the few words out before curling my legs up on the seat and sinking into a half-coma with the chill wind in my face. After a while, I felt the car accelerate and knew we had made it to the highway. Now as the road curved, I felt a pleasant, rhythmic sensation, throwing me a little deeper against Hugh’s shoulder from time to time.

When I opened my eyes again, it was dark. I was definitely on the mend. Hugh’s hands were now caressing my scalp; I moved closer, willing it to go on. He had an annoying personality but physically, he was heaven.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Mmm. What time is it?” I felt something brush against my lips.

“Late.” Hugh kissed me again. Despite the gentleness of his mouth, the chastity of it, I felt something start simmering inside me. “Is it all right?” He pulled away and traced my cheek with his finger.

“You ask too many questions,” I mumbled, thinking that despite his gaffes and inability with chopsticks, I found him too sexy for words.

He knew. His arms came around, crushing me close, and his tongue flashed into my mouth. It had been too long since I’d been touched like this; when his lips traveled down my neck, I arched against him, completely lost.