aspect—herself dirty, silly, and begging for money—not fake money but the real thing. When he knelt beside her she couldn’t meet his gaze.
“We seem to have a knack for finding each other under unusual circumstances,” he added politely.
“Yeah.”
She stood quickly and focused all her attention on brushing dirt from her skirt. He stood also. By darting quick glances at him while she dusted herself she saw that he was dressed in topsiders, casual slacks of a light camel color, and a white golf shirt with the collar turned up and the tail out. It had a fancy emblem on it—oh, God, it was probably his family crest.
He put out a hand and picked a twig from her skirt. She noticed the heavy gold watch that gleamed on his wrist. He was as stylish as a model in a magazine, but she couldn’t imagine that big, angular body standing patiently to be photographed. He always seemed ready to move.
“You’re very entertaining,” he told her.
“Yeah.”
“I’m here with friends, but they’ve gone over to watch one of the other acts. I’ll tell them that they should have seen yours.”
“Thanks.” What could she say to him? What did a person say to a fantasy?
She turned toward Pop and saw the grim set of his mouth. Her dawdling had let part of the paying audience escape. Amy’s heart sank. “Pop, this is Dr. de Savin—”
“Who’s this ‘Pop’ bloke?” he parried quickly. “Me name’s Willie. Willie the Rat Juggler.” He came forward and stuck out one sweaty hand. “Pleased to meet you, m’lord.”
Dr. de Savin shook his hand and nodded, his bearing so polite and gallant that Amy sighed. Being around him caused her pulse to race and made her acutely aware of being too young, too ignorant, and too plain.
“Dr. de Savin’s family owns the winery,” she told Pop. “You know, the place where I work—”
“Now, m’gurl, my little ratcatcher, what do you mean? And what’re you talkin’ in such strange English for?”
Amy shifted in silence and stared at the ground.
“What do you have to say, ratcatcher?” Pop prodded.
She turned wearily to Dr. de Savin. In his expression Amy found compassion.
He understood. God, he understood
. Her chin lifted. She was willing to die for him at that moment. In her best English accent she said, “It was nice seein’ you again, m’lord.”
He took her hand and bowed over it. Then he kissed it. His lips felt warm and firm on her skin. Weak-kneed, she smiled at him. He said solemnly, “You’re a very fine ratcatcher, but you have to stop wearing that strange greenery behind your ear.” He reached beside her head, brushed her earlobes with his fingertips, and drew his hand back holding a twenty-dollar bill clasped lightly between his fingertips. Slowly he tucked the bill into her money purse.
“That’s a nice bit of work you do there, m’lord,” Pop commented eagerly. “You could be one o’ the finest pickpockets in the village.”
“It’s just a little hobby I acquired to keep my hands limber.”
Dazed, Amy didn’t know whether she felt embarrassed for taking his money or elated over his attention. A little of both, she finally decided. When he nodded to her one more time and walked away, she thrust the money bag toward Pop and kept her eyes trained on Dr. de Savin. Hemelded with the crowd around the food concessions, but he was so tall that she could easily catch glimpses of him.
“Hey. Hey. Dammit. Kid, get your thumb out of your ass.”
Pop’s sharp voice drew her back to reality. “Yes, sir?”
“What’s the deal with that guy?”
“No deal, Pop. I hardly know him.”
“Get to know him better. He’s loaded.”
She scowled at the ground, hating the way Pop could take the shine off of a wonderful moment. “You goin’ to lunch, Pop?”
“Yeah. Comeon.”
“I think I’ll just sit out here and watch the people.”
“Suit yourself.” He headed for a tall wooden fence that had been set up to keep people from sneaking
“We seem to have a knack for finding each other under unusual circumstances,” he added politely.
“Yeah.”
She stood quickly and focused all her attention on brushing dirt from her skirt. He stood also. By darting quick glances at him while she dusted herself she saw that he was dressed in topsiders, casual slacks of a light camel color, and a white golf shirt with the collar turned up and the tail out. It had a fancy emblem on it—oh, God, it was probably his family crest.
He put out a hand and picked a twig from her skirt. She noticed the heavy gold watch that gleamed on his wrist. He was as stylish as a model in a magazine, but she couldn’t imagine that big, angular body standing patiently to be photographed. He always seemed ready to move.
“You’re very entertaining,” he told her.
“Yeah.”
“I’m here with friends, but they’ve gone over to watch one of the other acts. I’ll tell them that they should have seen yours.”
“Thanks.” What could she say to him? What did a person say to a fantasy?
She turned toward Pop and saw the grim set of his mouth. Her dawdling had let part of the paying audience escape. Amy’s heart sank. “Pop, this is Dr. de Savin—”
“Who’s this ‘Pop’ bloke?” he parried quickly. “Me name’s Willie. Willie the Rat Juggler.” He came forward and stuck out one sweaty hand. “Pleased to meet you, m’lord.”
Dr. de Savin shook his hand and nodded, his bearing so polite and gallant that Amy sighed. Being around him caused her pulse to race and made her acutely aware of being too young, too ignorant, and too plain.
“Dr. de Savin’s family owns the winery,” she told Pop. “You know, the place where I work—”
“Now, m’gurl, my little ratcatcher, what do you mean? And what’re you talkin’ in such strange English for?”
Amy shifted in silence and stared at the ground.
“What do you have to say, ratcatcher?” Pop prodded.
She turned wearily to Dr. de Savin. In his expression Amy found compassion.
He understood. God, he understood
. Her chin lifted. She was willing to die for him at that moment. In her best English accent she said, “It was nice seein’ you again, m’lord.”
He took her hand and bowed over it. Then he kissed it. His lips felt warm and firm on her skin. Weak-kneed, she smiled at him. He said solemnly, “You’re a very fine ratcatcher, but you have to stop wearing that strange greenery behind your ear.” He reached beside her head, brushed her earlobes with his fingertips, and drew his hand back holding a twenty-dollar bill clasped lightly between his fingertips. Slowly he tucked the bill into her money purse.
“That’s a nice bit of work you do there, m’lord,” Pop commented eagerly. “You could be one o’ the finest pickpockets in the village.”
“It’s just a little hobby I acquired to keep my hands limber.”
Dazed, Amy didn’t know whether she felt embarrassed for taking his money or elated over his attention. A little of both, she finally decided. When he nodded to her one more time and walked away, she thrust the money bag toward Pop and kept her eyes trained on Dr. de Savin. Hemelded with the crowd around the food concessions, but he was so tall that she could easily catch glimpses of him.
“Hey. Hey. Dammit. Kid, get your thumb out of your ass.”
Pop’s sharp voice drew her back to reality. “Yes, sir?”
“What’s the deal with that guy?”
“No deal, Pop. I hardly know him.”
“Get to know him better. He’s loaded.”
She scowled at the ground, hating the way Pop could take the shine off of a wonderful moment. “You goin’ to lunch, Pop?”
“Yeah. Comeon.”
“I think I’ll just sit out here and watch the people.”
“Suit yourself.” He headed for a tall wooden fence that had been set up to keep people from sneaking
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