Kiss Me Forever/Love Me Forever. Rosemary Laurey

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СКАЧАТЬ eyebrows rose, slowly. “I wish I could join you for lunch,” he said with a sly smile.

      “So do we, James, but I know you’ve got things to do. See you later.” Caughleigh opened the outer door wide. Dixie stepped out and he slammed the door behind them.

      “The Barley Mow is our local down on the village green. I thought, being American, you’d like lunch in a genuine old-English pub.” She would, but she wasn’t picky—anywhere that served food would be fine right now. “Just a short walk, not worth taking the car,” he said as he went to cross the road.

      “We might as well drive. I have to move my car. I only paid for an hour.” A seventy-dollar fine would make an expensive lunch.

      Sebastian Caughleigh stopped mid-stride. “You have a car?”

      “A rental.”

      He jackknifed his long legs into the Metro’s passenger seat. It took a good fifteen minutes to exit the car park, negotiate the traffic in High Street, turn right at a Norman church that invited exploration, and find a space in the Barley Mow’s graveled car park. They could have walked it in ten.

      The Barley Mow stood on the edge of the village green, just yards from a wide pond that edged onto the lane. Inside, it was an antique hunter’s dream. Horse brasses hung on oak beams. A hammered copper hood decorated the chimney of an inglenook fireplace. Willow pattern plates, copper kettles, hunting prints and old maps decorated every niche and wall.

      Sebastian led her through the pub. “Alf,” he said to the dumpy man behind the polished bar, “this is Miss Dixie LePage, the Misses Underwood’s great-niece. She’s over from America to see about settling the estate.”

      “Hi, Alf.”

      “Afternoon.” Alf looked up from counting money and smiled—at Dixie. “What can I get you?”

      “Two ploughman’s please, Alf.” Sebastian turned to Dixie. “You’ll like this. It’s a pub specialty.”

      She would, would she? Irritation pricked down her spine. He hadn’t bothered to ask before ordering. Were Englishmen still living in the Victorian age? And what the heck was he expecting her to eat? Meat, if the plates on the table she’d passed were anything to go by. “What’s a ploughman’s?” Dixie asked, pointedly looking at Alf.

      His mouth twitched as he looked straight at her and gave her a little nod. “American, aren’t you?” Alf paused, acknowledging her agreement with another smile. “It’s a pub standard: bit of salad, pickle, a chunk of baguette, and Cheddar, Stilton, or ham depending on your choice.”

      That was something; she could have a good lunch without explaining or justifying her reluctance to eat meat.

      “Two Cheddar ploughman’s,” Sebastian went on, sounding a little irritated at her interruption.

      “I’d prefer Stilton, Alf,” Dixie said.

      Alf’s smile broadened to a grin. “Right you are.” He gave Dixie a distinctly interested look as he turned to call the order through a hatch behind him.

      Dixie rested a foot on the rail of the bar and leaned on her elbows. Jet lag sapped her energy. Chauvinistic Brit lawyers didn’t help. Food might.

      “A pint of bitter too, Alf.” Sebastian turned to Dixie, “How about you? G and T? White wine?”

      She shook her head. “Guinness, please.”

      “Right you are.” Alf filled a heavy glass mug with great care, settling the head just right, rested the glass on a towel to take up the drips, then set it on a coaster advertising Merrydown Cider.

      Dixie sipped, drinking through the foamy head. The taste took her back to evenings on her grandmother’s lap, relishing the one sip Gran allowed. Something pinched deep in her chest at the thought. She took a deeper taste and met Alf’s questioning eyes. “Great,” she said. “Gran was right. It does taste better over here.”

      “That’s because your people mess with it, changing the alcoholic content and I don’t know what.” Alf wiped a couple of drips from the bar top. “Staying long, are you?”

      Caughleigh tapped her elbow. “We’ve got business to cover. Let’s sit in the conservatory.”

      Irritated, Dixie followed him. Suppose she’d preferred to stay at the bar. Had he thought about that? She had a hard time not making a face at his broad, pinstripe-covered shoulders.

      The conservatory looked out on green lawns, flowerbeds beginning to show bloom and a large jungle gym. Dixie sat down on the chintz-cushioned chair Sebastian held for her and set her drink on the wrought-iron table. They were alone except for a cat, curled up in sleep in a pool of sunshine. Dixie looked around at the faded roses on the upholstery, the polished tile floor, the geraniums on the windowsills and the mismatched wrought iron and mahogany furniture. Fashionable interior decorators would charge a small fortune to put together this look.

      Dixie’s arm brushed an immense, pink geranium as she turned in her seat. The sharp scent took her back to Gran’s piazza overlooking the Battery. And her reason for being here. “Sebastian,” she said, “I’d like to see my house after lunch.”

      He almost choked on a mouthful of bitter.

      “I’m afraid that’s not possible,” he replied after he’d coughed into a linen handkerchief. “I only have one key. Mike Jenkins has it. I asked him to value the house. He’s a local estate agent, very reputable. I’d recommend him to handle the sale.”

      “Can’t you get it back?” Dixie looked across at his smooth, dark eyes. They didn’t quite meet hers.

      He took a slow sip from his beer. “How about in the morning? It gets dark early and the electricity’s turned off.”

      Alf arrived with two plates overflowing with salad, a slab of cheese, pickles, relishes, and a small loaf. The sight and smell of food reminded Dixie how long ago she’d eaten her last real meal. Plastic food on an airplane didn’t count.

      “You didn’t say how long you’re staying.”

      Dixie looked up from buttering a hunk of bread. “I’m not sure.” She hadn’t really thought about it.

      “I’ve booked you for bed and breakfast at Miss Reade’s. She’s here in the village. I’ll take you there after lunch.”

      He had, had he? “I’d planned on staying in my house.”

      Sebastian’s brows wrinkled. He smiled. He showed very white teeth. “Well, you could…but there’s no electricity or gas and the water’s turned off. I know how you Americans like your creature comforts.”

      “We do. But I’ve come quite a long way to see my property.”

      He put a lot of effort into his smile. His eyes weren’t half bad either. “I wasn’t sure what you’d want to do. The house isn’t habitable right now. Your great-aunts were the local eccentrics, I’m afraid. I think you’ll be more comfortable at Miss Reade’s. If not, there’s a good country hotel over in Bookham.”

      “I’ll stay in Bringham.” СКАЧАТЬ