“Excuse the mess, I’ve been going through my pictures.” As the cup filled with coffee, she lifted a box from the floor and hastily began to toss the photographs into it.
“Don’t tidy up for my sake; you should see how I live.”
“Oh good, you’re untidy, too?”
“Very. Untidiness must run in the family, then,” said David, determined to cool his ardor by reminding himself that they were related.
She closed the box of photographs and placed the cup of steaming coffee in front of him. “I know why you’ve come,” she said, pulling out the purple chair and sitting down opposite him.
“Mother’s very upset. She feels she treated you badly when you came to Dad’s funeral. She wants to start again.”
“Look, I should never have introduced myself. I should have left straight after the service.”
“It probably wasn’t the best time to make our acquaintance, but it is as it is. Let’s try to move forward.”
She grinned at his pragmatism. “That’s a good idea.”
“I’m glad you agree.”
“I do. Now tell me if you like my coffee.”
He took a sip. “Very good. Aren’t you going to have some?”
“I’ve had a cup already. If I have another, I’ll be flying. Here, have a cookie. Cookies are my weakness.”
“You and Aunt Rosamunde.” He put his hand in the tin she held open for him and lifted out a circular black biscuit. “Oreos.”
“A little tin of America in my London kitchen.” She watched him take it, then helped herself. “Aren’t they delicious?” They smiled at each other as they bit into their biscuits.
David tried as hard as he could to look upon Phaedra as a sibling, but it was useless. She sat opposite, her beautiful smile turning his stomach to jelly. The air was charged between them. He was sure she must feel it, too, for it almost quivered over the table like heat above the desert. They laughed in unison, and no quip or innuendo needed to be explained. It was as if they were resuming an age-old friendship, and in spite of his efforts every fiber of his body yearned for her as no brother should.
David didn’t relish the thought of leaving and driving back down to Hampshire. It was so comfortable in her kitchen, the allure of her presence so strong, that he wished he could stay. “Have dinner with me?” he asked suddenly, without thinking it through.
“Dinner?”
“Yes, anywhere you want.”
“You’re just like your father, always hungry.” She smiled at him a little sadly. “He was always looking forward to the next meal, even in the middle of the current one.”
“Don’t you think all men are like that?”
“Perhaps. It’s just the way you said it. That spontaneous rush of enthusiasm. George was impulsive like that.” They both felt a cold wind sweep across the empty plains in their hearts.
David’s gaze dropped onto the table. “Maybe I should just drive home.”
“No, don’t. I’ll cook something here, then we don’t need to go anywhere. Do you like pasta? George liked my spaghetti Napolitana.”
“I don’t want you to go to any trouble.”
“Spaghetti Napolitana is no trouble. I like cooking. I find it relaxing.”
She got up, and David watched her reach for the spaghetti in one of the cupboards above the sideboard. She wore a loose-fitting floral shirt over jeans and trainers, but he could tell she had a lovely, curvaceous body beneath. “As you’re staying for dinner, we might as well open a bottle of wine. There should be some Chardonnay in the fridge. Would you mind?” He found the wine. She handed him a bottle opener and placed a couple of glasses on the table.
“Did you ever call my father ‘Dad’?” he asked, filling the glasses.
She hesitated a moment. “No. It didn’t feel right. I’m not a little girl anymore. I called him George. It suited him.”
“I’m astonished that he managed to keep you to himself for such a long time.”
“Men are good at compartmentalization, don’t you think? Besides, I was living in Paris. The time we spent together was in the Himalayas, not London.”
“So you’re a climber, too?”
“I’ll do anything for a good photo.” She grinned at him. “Even follow some mad Englishman up Mount Pumori!”
“My God, you really are his daughter.”
“We certainly shared a love of adventure and the outdoors.”
He handed her a glass and watched her take a sip. “What did your mother think when you went in search of him?”
“I don’t know. We don’t get along.” Phaedra turned away to cut an onion.