being reunited with old friends, doesn't it
sweetie?' Her tone dripped honey. Alan said rather disagreeably,
'So this place belongs to friends of yours. She seems very young
to be running her own business.' Laura said calmly, 'But I can
promise she's had a training in catering second to none. Bethany
did the whole course, not the year's diploma which I took.
Anyway, why don't we have our meal before we start passing
judgment?' Alan flushed slightly as he picked up his menu, and
Laura sighed inwardly as she studied hers. It wasn't his fault
that the evening wasn't going as he expected. She had no appetite
at all, but for Bethany's sake she had to make an effort, so she
chose melon, followed by a dish of chicken breasts cooked in
cream and white wine. Jason chose beef in burgundy, and Celia
opted for Sole Veronique after some pretty dithering, and appeals
to everyone else to help her make up her mind. Alan, rather to
Laura's amusement, chose all the most difficult dishes on the
menu. Look, she wanted to say to him,"ybo're doing a piece for
the local paper, not a test meal for the Good Food Guide. They
drank the new restaurant's health in champagne, and then Alan
agonised over the wine list to an extent which Laura found
embarrassing. He was obviously out to establish himself as a
connoisseur in Celia and Jason's eyes, she realised ruefully, and
was failing miserably. She saw her cousin send Jason a covert
glance of contemptuous amusement, and cringed inwardly. But the
food, when it came, was perfectly cooked and expertly presented,
and the wines Alan had so ponderously chosen complemented it
well, she had to admit, wishing at the same time that he was
drinking less of it himself. His comments on his food were
appreciative but over-loud, and he was making ostentatious notes
on the corner of his menu. She began to wonder uneasily just how
much whisky he'd consumed at the cocktail party. Her uncle, she
knew, tended to pour with a lavish hand, and had taught Celia to
do the same. She hoped he would refuse the inevitable cognacs
they were offered with their coffee, and was frankly dismayed
when he accepted not just the first offer, but the, second,
especially when she saw the swift glance Jason sent him, and the
faint mordant twist of his mouth. All through the meal, she'd
been aware of him sitting opposite to her—conscious that he was
watching her, the grey eyes flicking restlessly from her face to
her throat and shoulders, half-revealed by the low neckline of
the smoky dress, then down to the glimpse it afforded of the
shadowy cleft between her breasts. She was as physically aware of
him, as if he'd been touching her with his hands instead of his
eyes. She watched, as if hypnotised, the way the lean brown
fingers cupped the brandy goblet, and knew, the breath thickening
in her throat, that he was deliberately trying to evoke other
more intimate memories. For Jason, lovemaking had been yet
another art form to be explored, Laura thought with an
uncomfortable twist of the heart. He'd been so unhurried with her
at first, so patient with her initial shyness, knowing, she
supposed bitterly, remembering his earlier taunt, that his
patience would be rewarded. Eventually she'd learned to relax
completely in his arms, to take as well as give, to trust him . .
. She clattered her coffee cup back into its saucer with a
shaking hand. It was the betrayal of that trust she had to
remember, not the warmth, the laughter, and the fierce mutual
passion which had preceded it. With something like panic, she
touched Alan's arm. 'It's getting late. I think we should be
going.' 'What's the hurry?' His words were slurred, she realised
with irritation, aware of Celia's derisive smile. She found
herself wondering again exactly how much he'd had to drink all
evening. Jason said smoothly, ' I f you're tired, Laura, we can
drive you home.' 'No need for that,' Alan said with a
sweetie?' Her tone dripped honey. Alan said rather disagreeably,
'So this place belongs to friends of yours. She seems very young
to be running her own business.' Laura said calmly, 'But I can
promise she's had a training in catering second to none. Bethany
did the whole course, not the year's diploma which I took.
Anyway, why don't we have our meal before we start passing
judgment?' Alan flushed slightly as he picked up his menu, and
Laura sighed inwardly as she studied hers. It wasn't his fault
that the evening wasn't going as he expected. She had no appetite
at all, but for Bethany's sake she had to make an effort, so she
chose melon, followed by a dish of chicken breasts cooked in
cream and white wine. Jason chose beef in burgundy, and Celia
opted for Sole Veronique after some pretty dithering, and appeals
to everyone else to help her make up her mind. Alan, rather to
Laura's amusement, chose all the most difficult dishes on the
menu. Look, she wanted to say to him,"ybo're doing a piece for
the local paper, not a test meal for the Good Food Guide. They
drank the new restaurant's health in champagne, and then Alan
agonised over the wine list to an extent which Laura found
embarrassing. He was obviously out to establish himself as a
connoisseur in Celia and Jason's eyes, she realised ruefully, and
was failing miserably. She saw her cousin send Jason a covert
glance of contemptuous amusement, and cringed inwardly. But the
food, when it came, was perfectly cooked and expertly presented,
and the wines Alan had so ponderously chosen complemented it
well, she had to admit, wishing at the same time that he was
drinking less of it himself. His comments on his food were
appreciative but over-loud, and he was making ostentatious notes
on the corner of his menu. She began to wonder uneasily just how
much whisky he'd consumed at the cocktail party. Her uncle, she
knew, tended to pour with a lavish hand, and had taught Celia to
do the same. She hoped he would refuse the inevitable cognacs
they were offered with their coffee, and was frankly dismayed
when he accepted not just the first offer, but the, second,
especially when she saw the swift glance Jason sent him, and the
faint mordant twist of his mouth. All through the meal, she'd
been aware of him sitting opposite to her—conscious that he was
watching her, the grey eyes flicking restlessly from her face to
her throat and shoulders, half-revealed by the low neckline of
the smoky dress, then down to the glimpse it afforded of the
shadowy cleft between her breasts. She was as physically aware of
him, as if he'd been touching her with his hands instead of his
eyes. She watched, as if hypnotised, the way the lean brown
fingers cupped the brandy goblet, and knew, the breath thickening
in her throat, that he was deliberately trying to evoke other
more intimate memories. For Jason, lovemaking had been yet
another art form to be explored, Laura thought with an
uncomfortable twist of the heart. He'd been so unhurried with her
at first, so patient with her initial shyness, knowing, she
supposed bitterly, remembering his earlier taunt, that his
patience would be rewarded. Eventually she'd learned to relax
completely in his arms, to take as well as give, to trust him . .
. She clattered her coffee cup back into its saucer with a
shaking hand. It was the betrayal of that trust she had to
remember, not the warmth, the laughter, and the fierce mutual
passion which had preceded it. With something like panic, she
touched Alan's arm. 'It's getting late. I think we should be
going.' 'What's the hurry?' His words were slurred, she realised
with irritation, aware of Celia's derisive smile. She found
herself wondering again exactly how much he'd had to drink all
evening. Jason said smoothly, ' I f you're tired, Laura, we can
drive you home.' 'No need for that,' Alan said with a
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