'If you say so, I'll take your word for it. Reluctantly. So...?'
'Well, things in the office have been a bit overwhelming. We had trouble with a new computer and I'm wondering if I made a mistake in letting Kyle persuade me to take on his business interests. All this travel back and forward. I know I'm not stuck in a hotel when I come here but it still seems like living out of a suitcase.'
'You know you can always come and stay with us when you come to Paris, Leigh. We'd be-----'
'Oh, no!' How vehement she sounded, and of course Holly would have no idea what she was suggesting... She managed a smile. 'Bless you for asking, but I wouldn't dream of inflicting myself upon you. No, the flat is reasonably comfortable; it's just...'
'Sounds as if it's just that Kyle is expecting too much of you. Of course it suits him to unload all the boring details on you while he's raking in the money. Mind you, I hope you won't give it up, because I'm looking forward to seeing much more of you in the future. I missed you a lot when I left Strasbourg. No sympathetic shoulder to cry on.' She grinned, then pulled a face as she looked at her watch. 'But, sadly, I think I'll have to tear myself away. I promised to be back so Marie could get away.'
'Me too. I've got to get packed and out to the airport. But we'll meet again soon.'
'Thank you again,' Holly said later, getting out of the cab they had shared, 'for being such a wonderful godmother yesterday.'
'I loved doing it.' Leigh smiled. 'And I hope Paul likes that nightie.'
After that, it was back to Strasbourg, and for the next three weeks Leigh threw herself into work with the dedication of a zealot, emerging at the end if not cleansed, at least calm, and able to cope with the visit of a friend whom she had invited that Saturday evening.
It had been an inconvenience that Anna had failed to appear at the office, had, according to her landlady, been summoned to London. The result had been an increased workload for Leigh, with piles of additional typing and filing. When she had spoken to Kyle about the desirability of finding a temp he had seemed barely to hear, had given the impression of being lost in a private world, totally immersed in his own not very happy thoughts. Undoubtedly he had things on his mind just now. Several important matters, ones which affected his own constituents, were pending, so...she must just wait and hope that Anna would return as abruptly as she had left, and if not...
Anyway, the weekend had come as a relief. She was looking forward to Jane's visit. The fish for the main course had been easily prepared and the cheesecake-well, even if it failed to reach the professional standard of the glossy illustration, she had no doubt that it would taste fine.
The table in the corner by the window had been set with pretty mats and posies of flowers at each place and, in the centre, pink candles to tone with the linen. That, at least, could have measured up to a magazine illustration, and now there was nothing to do but enjoy a leisurely shower. Oh, but before that she would just pop a bottle of wine into the fridge...
She was in the midst of drying her hair when the doorbell shrilled, startling her. Sure for a bent that she had misheard, she switched off drier, but there it was again. She felt a see's panic, till a quick glance at the bedside k confirmed that there was a good hour one.. .But whoever it was certainly wasn't in patient mood. The bell sounded again, so prolonged; so very peremptory that she stood still in sudden panicky suspicion... But that, of course, wildly unlikely.
Belting her robe more securely about her waist, walked to the door and opened it tentatively. Eyes suddenly wide with shock, she went to slam it shut, but Patrick Cavour put his hand flat against it.
'No, don't do that.' It was an order, certainly nothing as polite as a request, and in any case quite unnecessary as she had instantly changed her mind. It would be pointless and stupid not to let him in. There was nothing to be afraid of and this was an opportunity to convince him that she wasn't. As well as to convince herself.
With a little gesture of resignation she walked ahead of him into the sitting-room, and found courage-to turn round to face him when she reached the centre. She was about to enquire what he wanted, in the most caustic tone she could muster, but as she opened her mouth to speak found herself hesitating, taking time out to … just to look at him.
There was something unconsciously yearning in the way her eyes absorbed and recorded every detail of his appearance. Clothes, especially the expensive casual clothes he wore, could say so much about a man. The light grey crew-neck he had on picked up that silvery iridescent ring in his eyes, or-perhaps more likely-was that just a reflection of anger? There was no way she could convince herself that he was paying a friendly visit. The lightweight tweed jacket in a soft muted rust with a grey silk handkerchief, a shade or two darker than the sweater, spilling from the breastpocket, the grey trousers, the black loafer shoes, calf-leather, buffed to a fine sheen-every detail, even to the lazy way he lounged in the doorway, his hand thrust so carelessly into the trouser pocket, might have been planned to show a man laid-back and at ease, to conceal the incisive intelligence and keen observation...
Except that these were qualities she knew too well ever to be deceived. And now she had no intention of... But, in spite of all her attempted bravado, she swallowed nervously, regretting the weakness which had diverted her momentarily, for she had never seen him so chillingly angry, never seen such distaste deeply etched on every feature.
The mouth was pressed in a single straight line, the eyebrows were pulled together, and the eyes... They were the most disturbing of all, looking at her with something very close to dislike. Even though she told herself that she didn't care-and she didn't, not in the least-there was something so wounding in such a silent unjustified attack that she had to struggle to hold back the tears that were stinging so painfully behind her eyes.
But what on earth was she doing? Suddenly, angrily, she came to her senses, castigating herself for so much emotional self-indulgence. Why was she allowing him to barge his way into her home? Allowing him to dictate, make her feel guilty and inadequate and a hundred other negative qualities which she resented so fiercely?
'Well?' she asked, with what she hoped he would recognise as impatience laced maybe with a touch of sarcasm. 'This is quite a surprise, but I don't imagine you came here simply for the pleasure of standing looking at me.'
Still he seemed to be in no hurry to speak, but when he did it was slowly, and with a harshness she had not previously heard in his voice-one of his ways, she had little doubt, of intimidating his adversaries in court. 'I'm looking... trying to convince myself... that you are the same girl.' She held her breath; it hurt to breathe. 'The one I knew... or thought I knew... in Oxford.'
Anguish struck at her; she felt as if the vital blood, life itself, was draining from her heart. It took great courage, all the determination she could summon, to thrust her weakness aside, substituting cynical condescension. 'I rather think we've been here before-if you remember?'
'Yes, I remember.' And if he sighed then-she thought she caught the very faint, weary sound of it-she put it down to boredom rather than regret of any sort. 'So...what happened? What changed you so much? Even when we met again I could see you were different. What I could never have guessed was just how deep, how profound those changes were.'
How could he ask such questions-he of all people? Didn't he know what had happened? Was it so very difficult to guess? He was what had happened to change her, and-----Swiftly she caught tight hold of her thoughts, spoke with a patient detachment which she hoped he would see as boredom. 'I simply cannot see where this is leading.' How dared he, when she was feeling so vulnerable, so utterly defenceless? How dared he bulldoze his way back into her life, just when she was trying so hard to cope...? She said, with a rather desperate glance and a hand thrown out towards the table in the window, 'I do have someone coming this evening, and-----'
"That's obvious.' Somehow his glance, as well as taking in the table with two places set, looked through the open bedroom door at the clothes spread out on the bed. But why should every word he spoke be thrown at her like some dire accusation? 'A quiet dinner for two, is it? Well, you needn't worry-I certainly have no inclination to disturb you. But, even in these liberated times, most people find this kind of thing unacceptable.'
While her brain was busy with that, trying to follow some kind of thread, he raked his fingers through his hair, a distracted gesture which in different circumstances would have provoked a desire to comfort; but then he went on.