Act Of Possession. Anne Mather

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      Reed was leaning against the wall to one side of the door, but when she looked out he straightened, and turned to face her. ‘Yes?’ she said tersely, unable to keep the hostility out of her voice, and his dark features took on a rueful aspect.

      ‘Can I come in?’

      Antonia could not have been more surprised, and it showed. ‘I beg your pardon …’

      ‘I said, can I come in?’ he repeated levelly, glancing over her shoulder into the small apartment. ‘I want to talk to you, and I’d prefer not to do so in Mrs Francis’s hearing.’

      ‘Mrs Francis?’ Antonia’s tongue circled her lips, and Reed nodded.

      ‘Any minute now, her door is going to open—just a crack,’ he confided drily. ‘So?’

      Antonia cast a half-glance behind her, suddenly conscious of the enormous contrast between her modest apartment and the luxurious rooms occupied by his fiancée. And she realised she didn’t want him to see where she lived. She didn’t want him coming into her flat, comparing her shabby furnishings with the designer fabrics upstairs. This was her home, such as it was, and she didn’t want his disruptive influence invading its sanctuary.

      ‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea,’ she said now, endeavouring to maintain a politely indifferent tone. ‘I can’t think of anything we have to say to one another, Mr Gallagher. If Celia’s not at home, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you can’t wait here.’

      Reed expelled his breath noisily. ‘I don’t know if Cee’s at home or not,’ he retorted, his lean face losing its humorous expression. ‘Look—I’m not about to ravage you or anything. I simply wanted to apologise if you think I was indiscreet.’

      Antonia looked at him unwillingly, her diffident gaze drawn to the clean-cut lines of his face. ‘Indiscreet?’

      ‘By telling you what Cee had said,’ he inserted flatly. ‘And by not telling you who I was.’

      Antonia’s nostrils flared, ever so slightly. ‘It’s not important …’

      ‘I think it is.’

      ‘Why?’ Her fingers tightened on the metal handle. ‘We are hardly likely to meet again, are we?’

      ‘Why not?’ The long straight lashes narrowed his eyes. ‘Cee likes you. She told me.’ He paused, and when she made no response, he added: ‘Well—I guess that’s all I came to say.’

      Antonia drew an unsteady breath. ‘Is it?’ she murmured, her long fingers fidgeting with the collar of her coat. Suddenly, she was disappointed. ‘I—is your fiancée at home?’

      Reed glanced carelessly up the stairs. ‘I doubt it,’ he responded, pulling one hand out of his pocket and combing his fingers through the dark vitality of his hair. ‘The shop doesn’t close until six, and it’s barely that now. But don’t worry about it,’ he finished with some irony. ‘I have a key.’

      Antonia hesitated. ‘I—I was just going to make some tea,’ she offered, regretting the words almost as soon as they were uttered. Whatever had possessed her to offer him her hospitality? she asked herself impatiently. Did she want him carrying tales upstairs of the straightened circumstances in which she lived? ‘I mean,’ she added awkwardly, ‘I don’t suppose you—drink tea.’

      ‘Well, I don’t survive on honeydew and nectar,’ he responded, his grey eyes gently teasing. ‘Thank you, Miss Sheldon. I’d love a cup of tea.’

      She had to step aside then, and treading silently on suede-booted feet, Reed entered the flat. Unlike the apartment occupied by Celia and her friend, there was no entrance hall. One stepped directly into Antonia’s living room, and her colour deepened embarrassingly as Reed looked about him with evident interest.

      With the door closed behind him, Antonia did not linger to correct his assumption of her status. Shedding her coat on to a chair as she passed, she walked through the living room into the kitchen, leaving him to make what he liked of the flat. She simply wasn’t interested, she told herself, filling the kettle at the tap and pushing in the electric plug. The sooner he had his tea and departed, the better. And after all, Celia might not approve of his making a detour, when he was evidently on his way to visit her.

      She was examining the contents of the biscuit tin when his shadow fell across her. ‘A watched pot never boils, isn’t that what they say?’ he remarked drily, surveying the pristine neatness of the kitchen. ‘Come and sit down. You must be tired.’

      ‘Do I look tired?’

      After what Mr Fenwick had said earlier, Antonia’s tone was unnecessarily tense, and Reed regarded her with rueful tolerance. ‘I guess I always seem to say the wrong thing, don’t I?’ he averred, running a lazy hand around the back of his neck. ‘Now, how can I redeem myself? By telling you I was only being polite, or by assuring you that you look pretty good to me?’

      Antonia bent her head. ‘Neither. It doesn’t matter I—you go and sit down. I’ll join you presently.’

      ‘Okay.’

      With a careless shrug he left her, and Antonia took cups out of the cupboard above the drainer, and set them on their saucers. By the time she had put milk into a jug and set it, along with the sugar bowl, on a tray, the kettle had boiled. Filling the teapot, she put it on the tray, too, and then after checking she had everything, she carried it through to the living room.

      Reed was lounging on the sofa, flicking through the pages of a self-help magazine she had bought to learn how to do minor repairs. In her absence, he had loosened the top two buttons of his shirt and pulled his tie a couple of inches below his collar, and the slightly dishevelled appearance suited him. But then, anything would, thought Antonia woodenly, refusing to respond to his lazy smile. He was vibrant; magnetic; the kind of man one could not help but be aware of, his unconscious sexuality a challenge in itself.

      Conscious of this, she seated herself on the armchair opposite him, and made a play of pouring the tea. ‘Milk and sugar?’ she enquired, the jug poised just above the cup, but he shook his head, and responded lightly: ‘As it is.’

      Belatedly, she guessed he was used to taking it with lemon, but in any case, she didn’t have any. And besides, her tea was not Lapsang or Orange Pekoe. It was just common-or-garden quick-brew that she bought at the supermarket.

      Still, he seemed to enjoy it, resting his ankle across his knee, emptying his cup and accepting a second. She should have known he would feel at ease anywhere, she thought, going to cross her legs and then thinking better of it. Like a chameleon, he adapted to his surroundings, totally indifferent to anyone’s feelings but his own. He was making her feel a stranger in her own apartment, and she resented his easy manner almost as much as his sex appeal.

      ‘Why don’t you like me, Miss Sheldon?’ he asked suddenly, setting his cup back on the tray while Antonia’s clattered noisily in its saucer. ‘Do I frighten you? Is that it? Are you afraid of men, perhaps? I’d be interested to know what I’ve done to provoke such a reaction.’

      Antonia replaced her cup on the table with rather more care than she had picked it up. ‘I think you’re imagining things, Mr Gallagher.’

      ‘Am I?’ His eyes were shrewdly assessing. ‘We may not know one another very well—which I’m СКАЧАТЬ