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Authors: Patricia Scanlan
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PREGNANT was written all over her face. Defiantly she lifted her chin and stared back at him. He wasn’t good looking in the conventional sense, his face was too lean
and long. Rawboned would be a good word to describe it, she decided. He had the dark swarthy looks of the European, a broad forehead, straight nose and a firm sensual mouth, which now had an amused
grin which displayed strong white even teeth. There was an intense magnetic air about him and she felt she didn’t like him or his strange amber eyes that seemed too penetrating. He laughed
aloud at the joke Gerry was telling him, a rich deep laugh, and she felt irrationally irritated that he should be laughing while she was in the depths of panic and despair.
Moodily she toyed with the rest of the delicious meal her mother had prepared: the mouth-watering rack of lamb, the sinful baked alaska. She was beginning to feel somewhat nauseous and it was
with relief that she heard her mother ask Luke to go and relax with her father in the lounge. Devlin helped Lydia to clear the dishes and stack them in the dishwasher before joining the men for
coffee in the gracious pale apricot and cream lounge with its luxurious sofas and chairs and enormous French panelled bevelled mirror. Through it, she caught once again the interested gaze of Luke
Reilly upon her.
‘Your father tells me that you are not long back from Portugal. Did you enjoy your holiday?’ he enquired politely.
‘Oh, it was very nice.’ Her tone was polite but offhand. She wished he would leave so she could make her own excuses and go back to the flat.
‘I sailed into Lisbon several times when I was at sea some years back. It’s a lovely city.’
Lydia’s eyes opened a little wider. ‘Oh Luke! Do you have a yacht?’
He laughed. ‘Not at all, Mrs Delaney, I was a seaman for a while.’
‘Oh!’ The disappointment was audible and Devlin nearly laughed. Poor Mother. A sailor! she thought, aware of her mother’s rampant snobbery. Embarrassed, she caught a twinkle in
Luke’s eyes as he observed her private smile and she could have sworn that he knew exactly what was in her mind. Then, unfolding his well-built body from the depths of an easy chair, he stood
up and she noticed how muscular he was across the chest and shoulders. Although his suit was well cut and looked expensive, it hardly seemed to contain him and she felt instinctively that he would
prefer casual clothes.
He was thanking her mother for a lovely meal, shaking hands with Gerry and telling him he would be in touch and then he was standing in front of her, his hand held out. For the second time that
evening Devlin felt the strong firmness of his handclasp. ‘I hope we meet again,’ he said suavely.
I hope we don’t, she thought nastily, unable to explain her sudden dislike of this man, for it was not like her to be so irritable and irrational. But he seemed to have sensed that
something was wrong with her and it made her feel strangely vulnerable the way his eyes had been watching her all evening. She murmured some non-committal reply even though Lydia, who had been
drinking quite steadily, was glaring at her. And then he was gone and the room seemed bigger as if he had somehow dwarfed it with his presence when he had been there.
‘Really, Devlin!’ Her mother’s irritated voice brought Devlin sharply out of her reverie. ‘You might have been a little more pleasant during dinner. That man could become
an important client of your father’s.’ She eyed her daughter crossly. ‘Since you’ve gone to live in that
flat
,’ the word was uttered with utter distaste,
‘you’ve become a different person.’
Oh no, don’t let her get started, Devlin thought wearily, feeling that she couldn’t take much more as Lydia launched into a tirade. Sometimes Devlin felt that her mother begrudged
her every moment of her independence. Was it because she had never had any herself? Lydia belonged to an era where women went
and long. Rawboned would be a good word to describe it, she decided. He had the dark swarthy looks of the European, a broad forehead, straight nose and a firm sensual mouth, which now had an amused
grin which displayed strong white even teeth. There was an intense magnetic air about him and she felt she didn’t like him or his strange amber eyes that seemed too penetrating. He laughed
aloud at the joke Gerry was telling him, a rich deep laugh, and she felt irrationally irritated that he should be laughing while she was in the depths of panic and despair.
Moodily she toyed with the rest of the delicious meal her mother had prepared: the mouth-watering rack of lamb, the sinful baked alaska. She was beginning to feel somewhat nauseous and it was
with relief that she heard her mother ask Luke to go and relax with her father in the lounge. Devlin helped Lydia to clear the dishes and stack them in the dishwasher before joining the men for
coffee in the gracious pale apricot and cream lounge with its luxurious sofas and chairs and enormous French panelled bevelled mirror. Through it, she caught once again the interested gaze of Luke
Reilly upon her.
‘Your father tells me that you are not long back from Portugal. Did you enjoy your holiday?’ he enquired politely.
‘Oh, it was very nice.’ Her tone was polite but offhand. She wished he would leave so she could make her own excuses and go back to the flat.
‘I sailed into Lisbon several times when I was at sea some years back. It’s a lovely city.’
Lydia’s eyes opened a little wider. ‘Oh Luke! Do you have a yacht?’
He laughed. ‘Not at all, Mrs Delaney, I was a seaman for a while.’
‘Oh!’ The disappointment was audible and Devlin nearly laughed. Poor Mother. A sailor! she thought, aware of her mother’s rampant snobbery. Embarrassed, she caught a twinkle in
Luke’s eyes as he observed her private smile and she could have sworn that he knew exactly what was in her mind. Then, unfolding his well-built body from the depths of an easy chair, he stood
up and she noticed how muscular he was across the chest and shoulders. Although his suit was well cut and looked expensive, it hardly seemed to contain him and she felt instinctively that he would
prefer casual clothes.
He was thanking her mother for a lovely meal, shaking hands with Gerry and telling him he would be in touch and then he was standing in front of her, his hand held out. For the second time that
evening Devlin felt the strong firmness of his handclasp. ‘I hope we meet again,’ he said suavely.
I hope we don’t, she thought nastily, unable to explain her sudden dislike of this man, for it was not like her to be so irritable and irrational. But he seemed to have sensed that
something was wrong with her and it made her feel strangely vulnerable the way his eyes had been watching her all evening. She murmured some non-committal reply even though Lydia, who had been
drinking quite steadily, was glaring at her. And then he was gone and the room seemed bigger as if he had somehow dwarfed it with his presence when he had been there.
‘Really, Devlin!’ Her mother’s irritated voice brought Devlin sharply out of her reverie. ‘You might have been a little more pleasant during dinner. That man could become
an important client of your father’s.’ She eyed her daughter crossly. ‘Since you’ve gone to live in that
flat
,’ the word was uttered with utter distaste,
‘you’ve become a different person.’
Oh no, don’t let her get started, Devlin thought wearily, feeling that she couldn’t take much more as Lydia launched into a tirade. Sometimes Devlin felt that her mother begrudged
her every moment of her independence. Was it because she had never had any herself? Lydia belonged to an era where women went
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