Dangerous Deceiver. Lindsay Armstrong

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СКАЧАТЬ no, but I’ve seen you dressed down, which was what I thought you might have meant—my apologies.’

      Martha cast him an angry look beneath her lashes, and went out of her way for the entire afternoon to be as common as she possibly could. But, far from being perturbed, he took her to dinner and took her home without attempting to lay a finger on her.

      Which provoked her, although she could have killed herself, into saying, with her hand on the car door-handle, ‘I see you’re not flashing any fifty-dollar notes around tonight, mister.’

      ‘Would you like me to?’

      ‘Suit yourself.’ She shrugged. ‘’Night, then!’ And she slipped out of the car. He made no attempt to stop her.

      But over the next few weeks it wasn’t always like that. In fact, over the next few weeks she reminded herself of a cat on hot bricks. She would wonder if she’d ever see him again and tell herself she didn’t care, but knew she did. She hated the way he could, simply by arriving on her doorstep, make her heart start to pound like a drum and all her nerves quiver. But if he left her without touching her she felt incredibly bereft, even while, when he did kiss her, she tried to go out of her way to let him know she didn’t give a damn. Which only amuses him, she reflected once, and had to amend that, Well, not always. Sometimes he gives me back more than I bargained for; sometimes he can be much cleverer and more cutting in what he says, as if there’s a darker side to him than he normally displays.

      So this is really crazy, she told herself angrily. It’s as if I don’t know myself any more. Why am I continuing this farce? Because he believes it, an inner voice answered, and you can’t forgive him for that. And that’s even crazier, she thought miserably. But that very evening when he turned up out of the blue and she resolved to have done with Simon Macquarie he all but routed her completely.

      ‘It’s a beautiful night. Would you like to drive to South Head? We could watch the moon over the sea.’

      ‘No,’ Martha said ungraciously. ‘Look here, mister, don’t think you can turn up whenever it suits you and expect me to be all sweetness and light and availability.’ She had, in fact, just got home herself from the job she’d at last got—curiously with an opposition catering company and doing exactly what she’d been doing when they’d met. Although this time she wore a conservative black dress and a frilly voile apron.

      ‘I see,’ he drawled, leaning his broad shoulders against the wall and watching her lazily as she pulled the apron off and threw it over a chair. ‘Has one of your Latin lovers claimed you for the night? You know, Martha, there’s not a great deal of evidence of men splurging on you.’

      ‘There will be,’ she said flatly. ‘I just haven’t yet met the type who can afford to splurge. Barring you, of course. I don’t know why, but I’ve got the feeling you’re something of a miser, Mr Simon Macquarie. Either that or the world’s not drinking much cognac these days.’ She grimaced. ‘And don’t,’ she said curiously tautly as he moved his shoulders, ‘give me that old spiel about concentrating on my beautiful soul.’

      ‘No,’ he murmured. ‘I won’t. To be honest, I’m not sure what kind of a soul you have, Martha, but you do have an exquisite body: skin like smooth satin, lovely bone-structure beautiful eyes...Have you ever been in love?’

      ‘You’re joking,’ she said scornfully.

      ‘So you don’t believe in it?’

      ‘Right at this moment, no.’ She turned away with a toss of her hair. ‘But don’t let that keep you awake at nights!’

      ‘Martha.’

      She stiffened as he spoke from right behind her, and said, ‘Why don’t you just go away?’

      ‘I will, when I’ve done this—no, don’t fight me. We both know now that you quite like it despite the lack of a commercial, paying aspect to it that’s obviously dear to your heart.’

      She turned and said fiercely, ‘You’re so clever, aren’t you?’

      ‘Not always, no, otherwise I wouldn’t be here doing this,’ he drawled. ‘But since I am ...’

      What prompted her to kiss him back with sudden tense, angry fervour was not entirely a mystery to her. What it led to was...

      They’d turned no lights on but the moon he’d spoken of was enough to illuminate the old settee they sat on, the curve of her breasts where her button-through dress lay open and had slipped off her shoulders, her front-opening bra laid aside, her head on his shoulder.

      Nor did it hide how she trembled as he drew his fingers down her skin and touched her nipples in turn, and how she mutely, at last, raised her mouth for his kiss in a gesture that told its own tale.

      But although he did kiss her it was brief and strangely gentle, and then he moved her away and closed the edges of her dress for her, before standing up.

      ‘You don’t want to go any further?’ she said in a strained, husky voice that wasn’t much like her tart voice.

      ‘Yes, I do.’

      ‘Then ...?’

      ‘I think we should resist it, Martha,’ he said abruptly. ‘And I probably don’t have to tell you why. I don’t make a practice of buying love.’

      Martha closed her eyes then glanced down and started to do up her bra and her dress. He said nothing but watched her bent head.

      ‘OK,’ she said at last, and stood up herself.

      ‘Just ...OK?’ he queried drily.

      ‘What do you want me to say?’ Some of the colour that had drained from her cheeks was coming back—too much of it, she thought shakily but made an incredible effort. ‘Cheers, it’s been good to know you—that kind of thing? Why not?’

      ‘Martha——’

      But she turned on him suddenly like a tigress. ‘Go away, mister. I know that you’re trying to tell me I’m not good enough for you—well, you don’t have to make a picnic of it! Just go away and stay away and see if I care!’

      It was at that moment that her downstairs neighbour who lived with his invalid mother and, despite his dark hair and dark eyes, was a very sober, serious-minded twenty-three-year-old dentistry student, knocked on the door to ask for a couple of teabags, only to get the surprise of his life as Martha opened it.

      ‘Vinny, darling, come in,’ she said delightedly. ‘Simon’s just leaving. Couldn’t have worked it out better if I’d timed it with an egg-timer, could I?’

      

      So that’s that, Martha said to herself several times over the next days. I’ll never see him again, for which I should be profoundly grateful.

      But she couldn’t help but be shocked by the pain this brought to her heart.

      In the event, she did see him again. Three days later, just as she was about to leave for work, he came with a bunch of daisies.

      ‘Oh, now look here,’ she began, but discovered her heart was beating erratically with, of all things, hope.

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