Читать книгу Deadline Yemen (The Elizabeth Darcy Series) - Peggy Hanson - Страница 23

CHAPTER 19

Never having met the fellow, I was not sure how he would fare in you-never-know-what’s-going-to­-happen-next-and-it-might-be-scary Yemen.

Nicholas Clapp, Sheba

Pretending to read, I watched as my new nodding acquaintance, the Brit with khaki pants, made his way to the door. Michael Petrovich and his stunning accompaniment threaded their way past him. The Brit turned slightly, and then paused to look back at them. Was that a flash of recognition? Yet he hadn’t spoken to Michael at breakfast.

As Michael and the young woman passed my table, he hesitated a second, then paused to say, “Good evening, Elizabeth! I hope you had a good day?” He didn’t introduce his companion, who seemed to be looking around the room rather than at me.

The man was incorrigible.

“My day was fine, thanks.” I gave a quick false smile before diving back into my refuge, Jane Austen.

They sat down at a table nearby. I signaled for my check.

The dining room was small. I couldn’t help noticing what people at other tables were up to. Michael and the young woman seemed absorbed in a tense discussion. I tried not to watch, but it was difficult not to catch glimpses of them out of the corner of my eye. How was this rather remarkable couple being received by the rest of the diners? Blondes in the Middle East have a certain cachet, and this one had other attributes as well. Michael was handsome, but he was at least twice her age.

Yes, the reaction in the male-dominated room was electric. A lot of envy, and some knowing smiles. It didn’t warm the cockles of my heart toward the make-up of men, but I’m pretty sure I wasn’t jealous. Looks like hers won’t last.

Michael did much of the talking—but, then, he would. Were the two fighting? Discussing politics? No, it was more personal than that. But none of my business.

My bill came, so I signed and rose. As I walked out of the dining room, Michael Petrovich stood up, came over, and touched my arm.

“I wonder if we could plan on talking sometime tomorrow.” His eyes held a question I couldn’t decipher.

“I’m so sorry, but I expect to have appointments all day,” I said, and headed up the stairs to the second floor. Honestly, the man was too much!

As I unlocked 217 with the enormous key, I looked over my shoulder.

The khaki-clad Brit was sneaking—there is no other word—down the dimly-lit hall in the opposite direction. He paused a moment in front of a door, maybe the last one on the left, then tried the knob and went in.

I yawned and entered my room. I was too tired to speculate about him or anyone else any longer.

The cat—my cat—waited for me. I chucked her under the chin and scratched behind her ears. “Your name will be Mrs. Weston,” I told her. The persona of Emma’s companion, who married and had a baby and was always consolation to the headstrong and self-involved Emma would suit this new companion of mine.