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buttoned up, that she thought was natural silk, and fawn, close-fitting
slacks. She felt a stirring of reluctant attraction as he seated himself
beside her and started the car.
He had driven back through the business area and they were passing
the boat harbour with its multitude of pleasure craft, and the ill-fated
replica of the Bounty, built for a film that had never been made, when
she asked him where they were going.,
'My place,' he said briefly.
She turned her head sharply to stare at him. 'You mean your house?'
'My home. Mrs Wright invited you to her place for dinner I thought
I would invite you to mine.'
'But that's differed!'
He seemed amused. Is it? Why, because I'm a man and might have
designs on your virtue? I haven't you know not tonight, at any
rate.'
Kyla didn't know if he lived alone. He had never said if his mother
was still alive. 'Am I expected?' she asked, finally.
'Yes,' he said, and didn't volunteer any more information. Kyla tried
hard to relax her taut nerves as the road took them along the river
bank, with the lights of the houses on the other side glowing on one
by one' in the softly gathering dusk. Eventually they turned into a
gateway between spreading magnolias and rhododendrons, and swept
up a curving gravelled drive to the front of an old and gracious villa
with a pillared veranda and gables on the roof.
'The ancestral home, such as it is,' Marc told her, and got out to open
her door. The front door was ajar, and he pushed it open and led her
into a -wide old-fashioned passageway with doors opening off either
side. He guided her through the first of these, into a gracious sitting
room furnished in a mixture of colonial and modem furniture, with an
archway leading to an Equally lovely dining room. 'Some of this stuff
has been here since my grandfather's time,' he told her. 'Make
yourself comfortable, and I'll go and let Mrs Bridgeway know that
we've arrived.'
When he came back Kyla was standing in front of a carved rimu
cabinet, admiring the collection of Victoriana it held. When she
turned he said, 'Will you have a drink before we start? Dinner will be
ready in fifteen minutes.'
She hesitated, then asked for a small medium sherry. She sat down in
one of the large, comfortable modern armchairs facing the bow
window that looked out on a lawn studded with trees, and when he
brought her drink over and took a chair close to hers, she said, "Who
is Mrs Bridgeway?'
'My housekeeper?'
'Housekeeper? I thought they went out with the Ark!'
'They're a rare breed these days, but I've been lucky.'
He would be, she thought. He probably paid the woman a
phenomenal sum in wages. 'I expect she's a treasure,' she said.
'Definitely. And in case you're wondering, she doesn't live in
servants' quarters behind the kitchen or in the attic. She comes in for
a few hours a day, and usually leaves a meal prepared for me to cook
myself. But on special occasions she's willing to stay on and make a
meal if I have a guest.'
Kyla wondered how often the guest was a woman. Watching her,
Marc said in a quietly amused tone, 'Usually they're business
contacts. This is a pleasant change.'
'I am a business contact,' she reminded him succinctly.
'I guess,' he said. 'You're also a very lovely lady. As I said, it's a
change.'
She sipped at her sherry, aware of his eyes on her, and stared out of
the window. But the light was almost gone, and after a few moments
Marc rose to his feet, pulling together the rose velvet curtains to
cover the glass, then standing in front of them, his drink in his hand,
while he smiled down teasingly at her shuttered face. 'What's the
matter?' he said, softly taunting. 'Don't you like compliments?'
'Not specially. They're usually insincere.'
'That's a cynical view for a girl like you to take!'
'You don't know what sort of girl I am.'
'Well, it's something I aim to find out.'
Her eyes went down to her barely touched sherry, her fingers
tightening on the glass. She heard Marc put his glass down on the
table near the window, and looked up in sudden alarm as he moved
closer to her. He stood where he was, a frown in his eyes. 'Still
disliking me?' he asked. Wouldn't you like to find out what sort of
man I really am?'
Crisp and cold as a frosty morning, she said, T can't think of any
reason why I should.'
He shoved his hands into his pockets, and his voice was suddenly
harsh. 'Stop fencing, Kyla. You know very well why. You fought me
all the way when I kissed you, but I felt you quivering with delight
all the same.'
Kyla's flesh went goose-pimpled with fright. 'That,' she said steadily,
'was a shudder of revulsion.'
He made a quick movement, and she looked up to see his face darken
with anger. In a savage undertone he muttered, 'Like hell it was!' And
then the door at the other side of the dining room through the
archway opened, and a woman's voice said, It's ready now, Mr
Nathan, if you'd like to bring your visitor to the table.'
He stayed looking down at Kyla for a moment or two before he
wrenched his gaze away and said, "Thank you, Mrs Bridgeway.'
She disappeared, and he said to Kyla, 'Finish your sherry.'
'I've had enough, thanks,' she said, and stood up, holding die glass out
to him.
His mouth was tight and he looked a trifle pale: she wondered if
temper did that to him. But he took her glass and placed it beside his,
then courteously waved her before him to the table, beautifully set for
two, with a centrepiece of creamy magnolias in a low crystal bowl.
Mrs Bridgeway returned with two bowls of chilled cucumber soup,
and Marc introduced her to Kyla. She whisked out again, and the
soup, accompanied by crisply warmed bread rolls, was eaten in a
tense silence. Mrs Bridgeway returned with plates of crumbed fish
fillets, new potatoes tossed in parsley and butter, fresh peas and
finely cut salad. A bottle of white wine was placed on the table
before Marc's place, and he poured some for both of them. Kyla
sipped it cautiously and found it delicious and cool.
Her voice husky with effort, she said, 'Mrs Bridleway is a wonderful
cook. Does she have a family of her own?' [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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