Читать книгу A Special Kind of Woman - Caroline Anderson - Страница 6

CHAPTER TWO

SHE looks gutted, Owen thought as they headed towards the restaurant. Empty and hollow and a little lost, just how he felt. He held the door for Cait and caught a drift of scent—not really perfume, just a subtle trace of something tantalising mingled with the warmth of her skin.

The waiter came up to him, looking puzzled. ‘Did you leave something behind, sir?’ he asked, and Owen shook his head.

‘No. I’ve just bumped into a friend and decided to come back,’ he said, and then wondered if it were rather overstating the case to call her a friend. Probably. A slight acquaintance was nearer the mark.

Very slight.

And yet he felt he knew her, because they were sharing the same very real and basic emotions at the moment and that gave them an instant connection.

He ushered her to a seat, his hand resting lightly on the smooth, supple curve of her spine, and as they sat down opposite each other she flashed him a small but potent smile that hit him right in the solar plexus.

‘Thank you for rescuing me,’ she said softly. ‘I hate coming into places like this alone, but I couldn’t go on any longer without…’

She trailed off, so he finished the sentence for her. ‘Letting go?’ he suggested. His grin felt crooked. ‘Been there, done that.’

Cait searched his face with her luminous grey eyes, and he wondered if the few renegade tears that had escaped his rigid control had left their mark. So what if they had? he decided. He loved his son. After all they’d been through together, Josh was worthy of his tears.

‘Are you OK?’ she asked gently, and he gave a soft grunt of laughter.

‘I’ll do,’ he said with a sigh, and she smiled back, tucking her long dark hair behind her ears and fiddling with her watchstrap.

‘Hell, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘I’ve spent years working towards this with her, and now it’s come I feel—oh, I don’t know what I feel.’

‘Oh, I do,’ he said with heartfelt sympathy. ‘I know exactly how you feel.’

Her smile was a bit wonky. ‘Oh, well. At least you didn’t make an ass of yourself in the car park,’ she told him drily, and he chuckled.

‘I wouldn’t bet on it.’

The waiter came up to them, pad in hand, and asked if they were ready to order.

‘Coffee?’ Owen suggested, and she nodded.

‘Please.’

‘Anything else? We could always eat if you’re hungry.’

He met her eyes, those lovely soft grey eyes with the dark line defining the iris. Her skin was clear, her lips soft and mobile, and he had an insane urge to kiss them. Just now they were moving, saying something, and he had to pull himself together almost physically. ‘Sorry, I didn’t catch that,’ he said, and she gave him an odd look.

Dear me, you’re losing it, Owen, old chum, he told himself, and felt heat crawl up his neck.

‘I said, I don’t want to hold you up,’ Cait repeated. ‘Won’t your wife be waiting for you?’

Jill. His embarrassment faded, replaced by the ache of an old, familiar sadness.

He shook his head. ‘No. No, she won’t be waiting,’ he said softly. ‘What about you? Will there be someone waiting for you?’

She shook her head. Something flickered briefly in her eyes that found an echo in his lonely soul. It was replaced by her slightly off-kilter smile. ‘No. No one’s waiting for me, except the cat, and she can cope.’

‘So—how about it?’

‘I tell you what, I’ll bring your coffee while you decide,’ the waiter said, giving up on them and handing them a menu each. Owen felt a twinge of guilt. He’d forgotten the man’s existence.

‘Thanks,’ he murmured, and raised a brow at Cait. ‘Well?’

She looked down at the menu, then up at him again. ‘Um—if you’ve got time, I wouldn’t mind something light.’

‘Have whatever. I’m going for a truly wicked fry-up.’

Her eyes widened, and then she laughed, a low, musical sound that played hell with his composure. ‘Comfort food?’ she said wryly, and he chuckled.

‘Something like that. Plus I don’t have Josh nagging me. He’s a health-food freak. How he’ll survive in halls I can’t imagine.’

‘Milly will be in clover. My cooking’s hit and miss at the best of times, and most of the time I’m too busy to worry. I can’t remember when I last cooked anything like a roast—well, apart from last night, but it was sort of the Last Supper and the Prodigal Son all rolled into one, if you get my drift.’

He did. He’d done just the same thing, only they’d gone out to a restaurant and then on to a pub and caught a taxi home, both a little the worse for wear and a bit subdued this morning.

The waiter brought their coffee, and Owen poured them both a cup and sat back, stirring his cream in absently and thinking about Josh and how odd it was going to be at home without him.

‘So, what do you do that keeps you so busy?’ he asked with deliberate cheer, changing the subject, and she laughed and rolled her eyes.

‘I’ve got a shop, for my sins—I hire and make ball gowns, and occasionally wedding dresses. It’s a bit seasonal, but there’s usually a steady flow of work. The balls are winter and the weddings are summer, in the main, so it pans out quite well. What about you?’

‘I’m a doctor—a surgeon,’ he told her. ‘I cut up people instead of fabric. It’s easier than your job. People heal.’

It made Cait laugh. ‘True, but I can buy new fabric if I make a mess, and I can always make a mock-up,’ she pointed out, and he smiled.

‘I’ll have to concede that one. I can’t see me waking a patient up and saying, “OK, that was just a dummy run, now we’ll do the real thing.”’

Her smile was gorgeous. Too wide, really, but her teeth were even and sparkling, and her nose wrinkled up when she laughed. She really used the whole of her face. Every muscle of it was involved in her spontaneous expressions.

She’d be a lousy poker player, Owen thought slowly, but she’d be incredible to make love to. Every touch, every stroke would find an echo in that wonderfully mobile face and those incredible eyes.

He shifted slightly in his seat, aware of the stirrings of a need he hadn’t felt in years. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth, and his breath jammed in his lungs. He dragged his eyes from her face and down to the menu, scanning it blindly for a moment until his eyes focused. Then he chose the most wicked thing he could find and stuck the menu back in the holder.

‘I’m ready when you are,’ he told her, his voice sounding strangled, and the double meaning hit him like a tram. Oh, hell. He hoped she wasn’t looking at him, because for a brief, terrifying second he was sure his thoughts were clearly written on his face—and they were seriously, seriously X-rated!

Cait was starving.

Owen had chosen what he was having and had put his menu down, but she was torn between the toast and pâté she’d spotted at first and the wonderful illustration of golden crispy chicken and chips with a side salad. It was horribly expensive by comparison, but what the heck. She could afford to splash out every once in a while, and it was a rather unique occasion, if not exactly special in the accepted sense!

‘I can’t decide,’ she murmured, but her eyes strayed back to the chicken and chips. ‘I was going to have the pâté, but this looks so tempting…’

‘Go for it,’ he advised, taking the menu out of her hand. ‘Stop worrying. Instinct is a wonderful thing.’

‘So it is. OK, I’ll go for it.’

She looked up into his face, but it was expressionless, apart from a polite smile that told her nothing. He hailed the waiter, ordered their meal and topped up her coffee.

She stirred the cream into it, chasing a bubble round the top, and then looked up at him again, surprising an unguarded look that made her breath catch in her throat.

No. She was imagining it. Of course he hadn’t looked at her like that.

‘So, where do you live?’ she asked to fill the silence, and then wondered if that was too intrusive a question to ask on such brief acquaintance. Apparently not, because Owen volunteered the information without a flicker.

‘Just south of Audley—about ten miles out, a little bit west of Wenham Market.’

‘That’s near me,’ she said, and wondered if she sounded hopelessly over-eager. That would be embarrassing. Just because he’d said there was no one waiting that didn’t mean there was no one in his life. Maybe she was away, perhaps on business. Oh, blast.

‘Near you?’ he said. ‘The shop or your house?’

‘Both. That’s where the shop is, in the square, between the antique shop and the butcher, and we live in the flat above it.’

‘It’s a nice little town—or is it a village?’

Cait laughed softly. ‘I don’t know. I’m not sure they can decide. We’ve got a village hall, but it’s quite big for a village and it’s got lots of shops. I’d say it was more of a town, in a way.’

‘It’s got lots of character. I envy you in a way. It’s a bit isolated where we are. It’s all part of its essential charm, but it’s also one of the greatest drawbacks.’

‘Is it an old house?’ she asked, slightly appalled at her curiosity, but he didn’t seem to mind.

‘Yes and no,’ he said confusingly, and then elaborated with a smile. ‘It’s a converted barn—so the barn itself is old, but it’s only been a house for a short while. Six years or so, I think. I bought it three years ago, after my wife died.’

Cait felt shock run over her like iced water. Not away on business, then, she thought numbly, and shook her head in denial. ‘Oh, Owen, I’m so sorry,’ she murmured.

‘Why should you be sorry?’ he said softly. ‘It’s just one of those things. It was quick, at least. She didn’t suffer. She had a burst blood vessel in the brain—she must have died almost instantly.’

‘Oh, Owen,’ she said again. ‘How awful for you. Was she at home?’

‘No. She was in the car. She’d pulled over but the engine was still running. A witness said she pulled up, slumped over and that was it. They discovered the haemorrhage at post-mortem.’

How hideous for them. How horribly sudden and violent and unexpected. She felt tears prickle at the back of her eyes and blinked them away. ‘It must have been dreadful,’ she said, choked. ‘How did Josh take it?’

Owen laughed, a short, humourless huff of sound. ‘Not well. He was fourteen at the time. He was furious with her.’

‘And the others—are there any others?’

He shook his head. ‘No. No others. Just me and Josh.’

‘Chicken and chips?’

They both looked up, slightly startled, to see the waiter hovering over them with two plates.

‘Um—yes, thank you,’ Cait said, moving her cup out of the way and letting his revelation sink in. The waiter left them, and without thinking she reached out her hand and covered his. ‘Owen—thanks for telling me about it.’

His grin was crooked and a little off-key. ‘That’s OK. I don’t usually talk about it. I’m sorry to unravel on you like that. I shouldn’t have brought it up.’

‘Yes, you should. She was a part of your life for years. You can’t just not talk about her as if she didn’t exist.’

He met her steady gaze, gratitude at her understanding showing in his amber eyes, and then he smiled a little sadly. ‘Thank you for that. You’re right, but most people don’t see it that way. It makes them uncomfortable.’

‘That’s silly.’

‘Maybe. Eat your chicken and chips.’

She looked at his plate, heaped with what looked for all the world like a truly wicked Sunday breakfast, and had a sudden urge to dunk her chip in his egg yolk.

‘Go on, then, if you must.’

‘What?’ She looked up, startled, to find him laughing softly at her.

‘Dunk your chips in my egg.’

The smile wouldn’t be held in. ‘That’s so rude of me. How did you know?’

‘Something to do with the longing look you gave it?’

Oh, lord. She’d better not direct any longing looks at him, then. He was altogether too good at picking them up!

She reached over, the chip in her fingers, and pierced the golden yolk. ‘Oh, yum,’ she mumbled round the mouthful, and he laughed again.

‘One more, and that’s your lot,’ he said firmly, and she indulged herself one last time before turning her attention to the fragrant, steaming plateful of chicken in front of her.

Within a few minutes she’d demolished it, and sat back with a huge sigh of contentment. ‘Oh, wow,’ she said with a grin. ‘Excellent.’

He speared the last mushroom and chewed it thoughtfully, then smiled back. ‘How about a pud?’

‘That’s too wicked!’ She laughed. ‘Anyway, I’ll burst.’

‘How horribly messy. We’d better avoid that at all costs. Another coffee?’

She shook her head, reality coming back to her. She had work to do before she opened the shop in the morning, and it was already after seven. Besides, the cat would be hungry and would take the hump and go off in a sulk if she didn’t get back soon.

‘I ought to go,’ she told him, and he nodded.

‘OK.’ He looked up and caught the waiter’s eye, and a bill appeared a moment later.

‘Could you please split it?’ she asked him, but Owen shook his head.

‘No. Leave it. Here.’ He counted out a pile of notes, told the man to keep the change and ushered her out.

‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ she protested, but he just smiled.

‘Yes, I should. I talked you into it—and, anyway, it was a pleasure having your company.’ He walked her to her car, and as she reached it he looked down into her eyes and searched them in silence for a moment.

‘Thank you for rescuing me from the doldrums,’ she said, a touch breathlessly, and he smiled, just a slight shift of his lips in the harsh glare of the outside lights. His eyes were in shadow, but they seemed to burn with an inner fire that she didn’t dare interpret.

‘My pleasure,’ he murmured, and before she could move or speak or even blink, he bent his head and brushed her lips with his. ‘Goodnight, Cait. Take care.’

He slipped a card into her hand. ‘Here. This is my number. Ring me if you need anything.’

Then he was gone, his long legs striding round his car. He slid behind the wheel and waited for her to get into her car, then once she was settled and pulled forward a fraction, he raised a hand in farewell and followed her out of the car park.

His lights trailed her all the way home, then as she pulled up they flashed a couple of times and he drove away.

How chivalrous, she thought with a tiny smile, and then looked up at the dark window in her flat over the shop. Oh, lord. No Milly to nag and bully and hug. None of her various friends to trip over, no festering coffee-mugs on Milly’s bedroom window-sill, no frenzied searching for a bag, a phone, a piece of paper.

Just silence.

Cait braced herself, and got out of the car. It was time to start the rest of her life.

She slid her hand into her pocket to pull out her house keys, and the sharp corner of Owen’s card scratched the palm of her hand. She pulled it out and looked at it in the dim light of the streetlamps, and a smile curved her lips.

Maybe—just maybe—her new life had already started.