indigestion. Something that seemed to belong to another lifetime—another age…
‘I was going to write down a list of questions for you,’ he said. ‘So I wouldn’t forget anything, or waste the short time we have together.’
‘What sort of questions?’
‘The kind that it usually takes days—weeks—months to answer. The basic things—do you prefer dogs to cats? Is spring your favourite season, or is itautumn? What music makes you cry? All the small details that make up the complete picture.’ The turquoise met hers steadily. ‘And that people find out about each other when they have all the time in the world.’
Ros forced a smile, her fingers playing nervously with the stem of her flute. ‘And things that we don’t need to know—under the circumstances.’
‘So, let’s cut to the chase instead.’ He leaned forward. ‘It’s clear you’re not seriously seeking a relationship, so why did you answer my ad—and why did you come to meet me?’
Ros hesitated, suddenly aware that she was strongly tempted to tell him the truth. But if she did, she argued inwardly, it would only lead to more and more complicated explanations, and recriminations—and what good could it possibly do anyway, when they were never going to see each other again?
On the other hand, she didn’t want to lie either…
‘Replying to the ad was someone else’s idea,’ she said, choosing her words with care. ‘And once the meeting had been set up, I felt—obliged to go through with it.’
He said softly, ‘So it was all down to your sense of duty.’ There was an odd note in his voice which she couldn’t quite interpret. It was almost like anger, but she didn’t think it could be that, because he was smiling at her.
‘But I suppose it serves me right for asking.’ He paused. ‘Are you seeing someone else?’
She hadn’t expected that, and was jolted into candour. ‘I was—but it’s over.’
‘And you used me to get rid of him—or was I simply to celebrate your new liberation?’
‘Perhaps both—maybe neither,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t thinking that clearly.’ She hesitated. ‘But I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. In fact that was the last thing I intended…’
‘Well, don’t worry about it.’ His voice was silky. ‘I expect I’ll recover.’ He refilled her glass. ‘So, tell me about your sister.’
Ros jumped, spilling some of her wine on to the marble table-top. ‘What do you want to know?’ she asked defensively, mopping up with a paper napkin.
‘She seems to have a fairly profound effect on you,’ Sam said, his brows lifting as he watched. ‘Is she your only living relative?’
Ros shook her head. ‘My parents are abroad at the moment.’
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘And you’re house-sitting for them.’
‘I’m taking care of things while they’re away,’ Ros agreed carefully.
Well, that explained the expensive house, thought Sam. It also meant she was still guarding her real address…
He said, amused, ‘You’re like one of those Russian dolls. Or an onion. Each time I think I’ve found you, there’s another layer.’
Her mouth curved. ‘I don’t care for the comparison, but I think on the whole I prefer the doll. Onions make you cry.’
‘Indeed they do,’ he said. He gave her a thoughtful look. ‘And I suspect, Miss Janie Craig, that you could break someone’s heart quite easily.’
Ros studied the bubbles in her champagne. ‘Now you’re being absurd,’ she said crisply.
‘It always happens when I’m hungry.’ He pointed to a blackboard advertising the dishes of the day. ‘I’mhaving spaghetti carbonara. Are you going to join me?’
‘We agreed—just a drink.’ Ros remembered her abortive sandwich lunch, and her stomach clenched in longing.
‘I’ll let you slurp your spaghetti.’ He shrugged. ‘Or you can always go back to your lonely microwave. It’s your choice.’
‘Very well,’ she said, adding stiffly, ‘But I’m paying for my own
‘I was going to write down a list of questions for you,’ he said. ‘So I wouldn’t forget anything, or waste the short time we have together.’
‘What sort of questions?’
‘The kind that it usually takes days—weeks—months to answer. The basic things—do you prefer dogs to cats? Is spring your favourite season, or is itautumn? What music makes you cry? All the small details that make up the complete picture.’ The turquoise met hers steadily. ‘And that people find out about each other when they have all the time in the world.’
Ros forced a smile, her fingers playing nervously with the stem of her flute. ‘And things that we don’t need to know—under the circumstances.’
‘So, let’s cut to the chase instead.’ He leaned forward. ‘It’s clear you’re not seriously seeking a relationship, so why did you answer my ad—and why did you come to meet me?’
Ros hesitated, suddenly aware that she was strongly tempted to tell him the truth. But if she did, she argued inwardly, it would only lead to more and more complicated explanations, and recriminations—and what good could it possibly do anyway, when they were never going to see each other again?
On the other hand, she didn’t want to lie either…
‘Replying to the ad was someone else’s idea,’ she said, choosing her words with care. ‘And once the meeting had been set up, I felt—obliged to go through with it.’
He said softly, ‘So it was all down to your sense of duty.’ There was an odd note in his voice which she couldn’t quite interpret. It was almost like anger, but she didn’t think it could be that, because he was smiling at her.
‘But I suppose it serves me right for asking.’ He paused. ‘Are you seeing someone else?’
She hadn’t expected that, and was jolted into candour. ‘I was—but it’s over.’
‘And you used me to get rid of him—or was I simply to celebrate your new liberation?’
‘Perhaps both—maybe neither,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t thinking that clearly.’ She hesitated. ‘But I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. In fact that was the last thing I intended…’
‘Well, don’t worry about it.’ His voice was silky. ‘I expect I’ll recover.’ He refilled her glass. ‘So, tell me about your sister.’
Ros jumped, spilling some of her wine on to the marble table-top. ‘What do you want to know?’ she asked defensively, mopping up with a paper napkin.
‘She seems to have a fairly profound effect on you,’ Sam said, his brows lifting as he watched. ‘Is she your only living relative?’
Ros shook her head. ‘My parents are abroad at the moment.’
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘And you’re house-sitting for them.’
‘I’m taking care of things while they’re away,’ Ros agreed carefully.
Well, that explained the expensive house, thought Sam. It also meant she was still guarding her real address…
He said, amused, ‘You’re like one of those Russian dolls. Or an onion. Each time I think I’ve found you, there’s another layer.’
Her mouth curved. ‘I don’t care for the comparison, but I think on the whole I prefer the doll. Onions make you cry.’
‘Indeed they do,’ he said. He gave her a thoughtful look. ‘And I suspect, Miss Janie Craig, that you could break someone’s heart quite easily.’
Ros studied the bubbles in her champagne. ‘Now you’re being absurd,’ she said crisply.
‘It always happens when I’m hungry.’ He pointed to a blackboard advertising the dishes of the day. ‘I’mhaving spaghetti carbonara. Are you going to join me?’
‘We agreed—just a drink.’ Ros remembered her abortive sandwich lunch, and her stomach clenched in longing.
‘I’ll let you slurp your spaghetti.’ He shrugged. ‘Or you can always go back to your lonely microwave. It’s your choice.’
‘Very well,’ she said, adding stiffly, ‘But I’m paying for my own
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