Read Online Stephanie's Trial by Susanna Hughes - Free Book Online
Authors: Susanna Hughes
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large restaurant menu bound in leather.
'No. I know
what I want. Do you have any oysters?'
'Yes,
madam.'
'I'll have a
dozen please. And then a roast partridge.'
'With a
selection of vegetables?'
'Yes. And a
good claret. A half-bottle.'
The waiter
looked quizzical. 'The good clarets only come in bottles,
madam.'
'I suppose
you're right. Then bring me a bottle of Haut Brion. A good year.
And what I don't drink you can have.'
The remark did
not bring a smile to his face. 'Certainly madam.' He bowed slightly
and went away.
The one thing
the kitchens at the castle could not cater for was English game and
the idea of having a partridge had taken Stephanie's fancy. She
found herself salivating at the prospect. It was hardly a light
lunch but she would compensate by having little to eat tonight.
'Excuse...'
The voice came from her left. She turned to identify its owner. A
middle-aged Japanese man sat at the table next to hers. He was
immaculately dressed in a navy blue suit, a white shirt and a navy
silk tie. His black hair was thick and wavy, beginning to grey over
his ears. His face was rugged and strong, his chin square and his
hooded epicanthic eyes a very dark brown. 'Excuse...' he repeated,
his voice a velvet thickness with only a hint of a Japanese accent,
'I heard you order partridge. What is, please?'
'Ah... it's a
bird, game bird.'
'Bird, like
chicken?'
'Yes. Well no,
not really, it's wild. Quite a gamey taste.'
'I try, I
think. I have been in England six months but I never heard of
this.'
'Oh, the
season's only just started. You can only get them in the
autumn.'
'I see. I see.
Thank you. Please excuse the interruption.'
Apart from his
eyes, there was very little Japanese about the man. The way he sat,
relaxed and at ease, suggested a strong physical presence. He
looked fit. He was, Stephanie thought, a very attractive man.
'Why don't you
join me?' she said.
'No. I
interrupt. Please forgive this.'
'Not at all.
I'd like it, please. Would you like a glass of champagne?'
'In Japan, for
a woman to offer man champagne, would be considered... odd.'
'We're not in
Japan.'
He smiled
broadly at that, showing his very white and regular teeth. 'Then I
accept.'
The man got
up. He was taller than most Japanese men and broad in the chest.
His suit fitted perfectly. Stephanie glimpsed a gold Rolex on his
wrist and gold cufflinks. He stood in front of her.
'Kakuta
Kanjii,' he said, bowing, then extended his hand.
'Stephanie
Curtis.' She shook his hand.
He sat in the
chair opposite her, his eyes glancing over her body, pausing to
enjoy the view of her crossed legs the knee-length of the skirt of
the dress provided. Stephanie caught the waiter's eye and ordered
another glass of champagne with sign language.
'I do not
usually drink at lunchtime,' Kanjii said.
'So what are
you doing in London?'
'I come to
sell my equipment. I have company that makes machines. Robots. For
factories. I work in London six months and in Tokyo six
months.'
'Your English
is very good.'
'I try. I
think it will be better. You have ever been to Japan?'
'No.'
'It is very
crowded. But also beautiful. Mount Fuji, and at the sea.'
'I'd love to
go there.'
Kanjii talked
easily, his body relaxed, occasionally, using his hands for
emphasis. He had long fingers with his nails professionally
manicured; the backs of his fingers and hands were lightly covered
with long black hairs. He was more than passingly attractive,
Stephanie decided. It was something in those dark eyes, the way
they looked at her, his eyelids giving the impression of intensity.
Even after the excesses of last night Stephanie felt her body
stirring, imagining those hands on her body, and those eyes.
They talked
constantly and had lunch together, Kanjii ordering the same meal as
Stephanie and enthusing over the roast partridge and the 1971 Haut
Brion the wine waiter had selected. He seemed fascinated with every
word she said, looking steadily at her across the lunch table
'No. I know
what I want. Do you have any oysters?'
'Yes,
madam.'
'I'll have a
dozen please. And then a roast partridge.'
'With a
selection of vegetables?'
'Yes. And a
good claret. A half-bottle.'
The waiter
looked quizzical. 'The good clarets only come in bottles,
madam.'
'I suppose
you're right. Then bring me a bottle of Haut Brion. A good year.
And what I don't drink you can have.'
The remark did
not bring a smile to his face. 'Certainly madam.' He bowed slightly
and went away.
The one thing
the kitchens at the castle could not cater for was English game and
the idea of having a partridge had taken Stephanie's fancy. She
found herself salivating at the prospect. It was hardly a light
lunch but she would compensate by having little to eat tonight.
'Excuse...'
The voice came from her left. She turned to identify its owner. A
middle-aged Japanese man sat at the table next to hers. He was
immaculately dressed in a navy blue suit, a white shirt and a navy
silk tie. His black hair was thick and wavy, beginning to grey over
his ears. His face was rugged and strong, his chin square and his
hooded epicanthic eyes a very dark brown. 'Excuse...' he repeated,
his voice a velvet thickness with only a hint of a Japanese accent,
'I heard you order partridge. What is, please?'
'Ah... it's a
bird, game bird.'
'Bird, like
chicken?'
'Yes. Well no,
not really, it's wild. Quite a gamey taste.'
'I try, I
think. I have been in England six months but I never heard of
this.'
'Oh, the
season's only just started. You can only get them in the
autumn.'
'I see. I see.
Thank you. Please excuse the interruption.'
Apart from his
eyes, there was very little Japanese about the man. The way he sat,
relaxed and at ease, suggested a strong physical presence. He
looked fit. He was, Stephanie thought, a very attractive man.
'Why don't you
join me?' she said.
'No. I
interrupt. Please forgive this.'
'Not at all.
I'd like it, please. Would you like a glass of champagne?'
'In Japan, for
a woman to offer man champagne, would be considered... odd.'
'We're not in
Japan.'
He smiled
broadly at that, showing his very white and regular teeth. 'Then I
accept.'
The man got
up. He was taller than most Japanese men and broad in the chest.
His suit fitted perfectly. Stephanie glimpsed a gold Rolex on his
wrist and gold cufflinks. He stood in front of her.
'Kakuta
Kanjii,' he said, bowing, then extended his hand.
'Stephanie
Curtis.' She shook his hand.
He sat in the
chair opposite her, his eyes glancing over her body, pausing to
enjoy the view of her crossed legs the knee-length of the skirt of
the dress provided. Stephanie caught the waiter's eye and ordered
another glass of champagne with sign language.
'I do not
usually drink at lunchtime,' Kanjii said.
'So what are
you doing in London?'
'I come to
sell my equipment. I have company that makes machines. Robots. For
factories. I work in London six months and in Tokyo six
months.'
'Your English
is very good.'
'I try. I
think it will be better. You have ever been to Japan?'
'No.'
'It is very
crowded. But also beautiful. Mount Fuji, and at the sea.'
'I'd love to
go there.'
Kanjii talked
easily, his body relaxed, occasionally, using his hands for
emphasis. He had long fingers with his nails professionally
manicured; the backs of his fingers and hands were lightly covered
with long black hairs. He was more than passingly attractive,
Stephanie decided. It was something in those dark eyes, the way
they looked at her, his eyelids giving the impression of intensity.
Even after the excesses of last night Stephanie felt her body
stirring, imagining those hands on her body, and those eyes.
They talked
constantly and had lunch together, Kanjii ordering the same meal as
Stephanie and enthusing over the roast partridge and the 1971 Haut
Brion the wine waiter had selected. He seemed fascinated with every
word she said, looking steadily at her across the lunch table
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