The Englishman's Bride. Sophie Weston

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СКАЧАТЬ she would say serenely. And take herself off to the library to research the problem of the moment.

      There were only two things that Kit Romaine did not do. She wouldn’t take care of children. And she didn’t date.

      Which was odd when you came to think of it. A gorgeous girl like that: good figure, perfect skin and the sort of grace that made people turn and look at her in the street. A client had even wanted to use her in a television commercial once. It was a shame to waste all that long, silky blonde hair, or so he had said. Kit had laughed at him. And been adamant in her refusal.

      Make that three things that Kit Romaine did not do, thought Mrs Ludwig, sighing.

      ‘Not the Bryants,’ Kit was saying now. ‘Give me the house-cleaning. A whole week should get me to the end of module ten.’

      Mrs Ludwig laughed. ‘What is it this time?’

      ‘War poetry.’

      Mrs Ludwig pulled a face.

      ‘Sounds grim. Rather you than me.’

      ‘It’s not all grim, actually. It’s stuff every educated person ought to know.’

      Kit was a dedicated self-educator. When she worked alone, she would slap a tape of her most recent subject into her Walkman. Then she could clean or drive or groom or do whatever it was she was being paid to do. And all the time, as she explained to Helen Ludwig, she was increasing her knowledge.

      Helen Ludwig, who had two degrees and generally forgot both of them, wrote it off as an eccentricity. It did not get in the way of Kit’s efficiency or the agency reputation, and that was all she cared about.

      ‘Whatever you say,’ she said, bored. ‘The Pimlico house it is. Pick up the keys here on Monday.’

      Kit nodded and stood up. ‘See you.’

      ‘Have a good weekend,’ nodded Mrs Ludwig, already forgetting her.

      Kit went home on the underground. It was crowded on this wet winter night. The train smelled of wet mackintosh and too many people crowded together. But the crowds were cheerful. Everybody partied on a Friday night, after all.

      Except me, thought Kit, getting out at Notting Hill and turning north, into the Palladian jungle. She thought it with relief.

      There had been a time when she partied every night, desperate to keep up with the in-crowd. It had cost her a degree, her self-respect and, very nearly, her health. These days she was very glad to be a non-party-goer.

      Fridays were the nights Kit washed her hair and listened to opera. She had done piano concertos and given up on them without regret. But she still had hopes of coming to like opera.

      So much to learn, she thought. So much to experience. Who needed to date?

      She ran up the steps of a white stucco terrace house and let herself in. The terrace was elegantly proportioned but, once inside, the house was all homely chaos. Tonight it smelled of joss-sticks and an ominous citrus and cinnamon mix that meant her landlady was brewing punch.

      Kit lived in the basement flat, courtesy of her brother-in-law, whose aunt owned the house. She was an ex-ballerina and full of artistic temperament. It was Tatiana who was responsible for the chaos. Tatiana, too, who burned joss-sticks and threw wild parties on a Friday night.

      Kit tiptoed past the door to Tatiana’s part of the house. Her landlady was quite likely to demand her presence at tonight’s bash if she caught her. She thoroughly disapproved of Kit’s antisocial tendencies.

      ‘Get a life,’ she had said as they passed on the front steps only that morning. Kit was coming back from her early swim. ‘The only things you do outside this flat are work and swim.’

      ‘I’m taking driving lessons,’ Kit had said defensively.

      Tatiana snorted. ‘You need to get your hands on a man, not a combustion engine,’ she snapped.

      ‘Been there. Done that,’ said Kit flippantly.

      But Tatiana looked up at her like a wise old tortoise. ‘Oh, yes? When?’

      Kit shook her head, half annoyed, half amused in spite of herself. ‘Why do you keep on about it? It’s like living with the thought police!’

      Tatiana was not offended. Indeed, she looked rather pleased.

      A suspicion occurred to Kit. ‘Has Lisa put you up to this?’

      Tatiana sniffed. ‘She didn’t have to. It’s not natural. You only go out if you’ve got an evening class. A girl your age ought to be having fun.’

      ‘Dating,’ interpreted Kit with a resigned sigh.

      ‘Having fun,’ corrected Tatiana. ‘Especially a girl who looks like you.’

      Kit flinched.

      ‘Golden hair and green eyes,’ said Tatiana rancorously. ‘And you move like a dancer. You could be stunning if you wanted. Only you dress in potato sacks. And you never go anywhere.’

      ‘I go where I want,’ said Kit, losing her rag. ‘And wear what I want. If you can’t take it, I can always move out.’

      But Tatiana had backed away from the challenge. She had flung up her hands and retreated into her flat, muttering in Russian.

      Kit grinned to herself now, recalling it. She did not often win a battle of wills with her landlady. Still, no point in inviting a rematch, she thought, edging down the stairs to her own flat as softly as she knew how.

      She heard the phone ringing even before she had the key in the lock. She flung the door open and dived on it, before the ringing could bring Tatiana out of her lair.

      ‘Hello? Kit?’

      ‘Lisa?’ said Kit incredulously. Her sister was supposed to be in a tropical paradise, holidaying with her naturalist husband while she recuperated from a series of winter infections. ‘What on earth are you doing ringing me? You’re supposed to be relaxing on a palm-fringed beach.’ And then, quickly, ‘There’s nothing wrong with Nikolai, is there?’

      ‘I wouldn’t know. I hardly see him.’ Lisa’s voice sounded as if she were at the bottom of the ocean. It did nothing to disguise the waspish tone.

      ‘Oh,’ said Kit, feeling helpless.

      ‘He told me the hotel was hosting a conference about local conservation and he might look in. I thought he meant he was going to go to a couple of talks. But he’s there all the time. And now he’s agreed to speak.’

      Kit knew Lisa. From the sound of it, her sister could hardly contain her rage.

      ‘And the damned hotel is empty except for men at conferences. What genius ever went and built a super de luxe hotel on the edge of a war zone? I ask you!’

      ‘War zone?’ repeated Kit, alarmed.

      Lisa sounded impatient. ‘Seems to have died down at the moment. That’s the reason for all the conferences, СКАЧАТЬ