Hot Blood. CHARLOTTE LAMB

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      Kit began to get out her purse, but Joe had already given the girl a handful of coins. ‘Keep the change,’ he said.

      ‘Thanks,’ she said, with the first flicker of a smile, and walked away again.

      Kit offered him the price of her coffee. He shook his head. ‘You can pay next time.’

      ‘Who says there’s going to be a next time?’ But she put her purse back into her handbag.

      ‘I hope there will.’ He looked at her seriously and she looked down, flushing. He was giving her butterflies in her stomach, and it was a very long time since a man had done that to her. She didn’t know how to answer him.

      After a pause he asked, ‘Do you have a job?’

      ‘I work for the local auctioneer, Keble’s.’

      ‘Doing what?’

      ‘I help in most departments. I take auctions, I price antiques and paintings, work on the accounts, even help with packing up items for posting if we’re short-handed.’

      ‘You must be very clever. Have you had years of training?’

      ‘Not exactly. I did an art degree before I got married, and my father ran an antiques shop, so I picked up quite a bit from him. I worked in the shop with him after I got married, to earn some extra money while my son was small.

      ‘I kept up my studies in the evenings, while Paul was asleep; I read a good deal and I took evening classes. I managed to get to London quite often to visit museums and art galleries. My husband was an expert in Oriental ceramics; he taught me a great deal too. I inherited my father’s personal collection of English furniture and porcelain when he died, so I suppose in one way or another I’ve been studying antiques all my life.’

      Joe leaned his elbows on the table, sipping his coffee while he stared at her, his blue eyes narrowed and thoughtful. She stared back, prickling at the fixed nature of his gaze, and when he still didn’t speak said after a minute, ‘What? What?’

      ‘What what?’ he repeated, laughing.

      ‘What are you thinking?’ she asked him crossly.

      He put out a finger and flicked it down her cheek, his voice soft. ‘That your hair is like spun silver and when you’re full of enthusiasm your face lights up as you talk.’

      She went pink. ‘Oh, stop it! I’m not a teenager to be flattered like that.’ She took a sip of her own coffee; it was lukewarm by now. It couldn’t have been very hot to start with.

      ‘How long have you been divorced?’

      Another of his abrupt, direct questions. ‘Five years,’ she said. ‘What about you?’

      ‘I can’t even remember. She left me years ago—said she was sick of being married to a man she never saw, and I can’t blame her; I was always out of the country. She thought my job was dangerous, too.’

      ‘Was it?’

      He laughed. ‘In a way—if you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, but luckily I never was. Oh, I had a few little accidents—broke a leg once, got shot in the shoulder, got blown off my feet and spent a few weeks with concussion and a touch of deafness in one ear—but—’

      ‘But nothing serious,’ Kit drily concluded for him, and he grinned at her, amusement in his blue eyes.

      ‘Well, I survived it all, let’s put it like that.’

      ‘Let’s,’ she agreed. ‘What on earth made you choose Silverburn to move to after this peaceful life of yours? Do you think you’re ready for the heady excitements of our bustling metropolis?’

      Quite seriously he said, ‘I was sick of flying around the world, sick of wars and famines, sick of city life, very sick of daily tension. I wanted to get out into the English countryside, and I had an aunt who lived here once, when I was just a kid. I remembered it as a lovely town, full of old buildings and great shops, and close to some gorgeous countryside too—so I came to look it over and decided it would suit me down to the ground.’

      The waitress was banging a saucepan on the counter. ‘Closing time!’ she yelled. ‘Go home, all of you!’

      Grumbling, the other customers began to get up, put on coats, fasten their buttons, before drifting out into the night.

      Joe and Kit followed. They were the last customers; the waitress locked up behind them.

      ‘Can I give you a lift? My car is parked over behind the cinema,’ Joe offered.

      ‘I came in my own car,’ Kit said, walking purposefully towards the same cinema car park. The street was almost empty now; the teenagers from the coffee-bar were running to catch a late-night bus, everyone from the cinema had gone home and there was very little traffic at this time of night.

      The town was going to sleep, and she was very conscious of being alone with a stranger. It was an experience she had not had since her own teens, which were so long ago that it gave her vertigo to remember that far back.

      Joe fell into step with her without haste, his strides longer. ‘How about dinner tomorrow? I’ll book a table in advance so we won’t have a problem. Have you got a favourite restaurant? I haven’t had time to check them all out yet; you’ll have to advise me.’

      ‘I’m rather busy, I’m afraid. Sorry.’ Kit reached her little red Ford and stooped to unlock the door, not looking at him. ‘Goodnight,’ she said quickly, sliding into the driver’s seat and pulling the door shut.

      He bent down and tapped on the window. She touched the button which made the glass slide down and looked warily at him.

      ‘What changed your mind?’ he asked, his face wry.

      She decided to be as blunt in return. ‘I told you, I’m not free; I already have a man in my life.’

      ‘And it’s serious?’

      ‘Yes, it’s serious,’ she said, meeting his eyes levelly. ‘Goodnight.’

      He had his hand on the glass and had to snatch it back as the window silently closed again. The engine started. Kit put her foot down and drove off, leaving him standing there, staring at her. Something in the way he watched her made the hair prickle on the back of her neck.

      There was almost no other traffic about, so she was able to drive quite fast, yet as she drew up at the traffic lights at the end of the high street she saw a sleek black Porsche pull in behind her. Kit looked at it idly in her driving mirror, envying the style and potential speed, then stiffened as she recognised the driver. He raised a hand in greeting.

      Kit waved back briefly, but her heartbeat had speeded up and she felt her nerves jumping as she drove on.

      Oh, stop it! Of course he’s driving the same way; he’s going to the same block of flats, isn’t he? she told herself impatiently. What’s the matter with you? Does he look dangerous? She flicked another glance into the mirror to watch the Porsche following СКАЧАТЬ