Читать книгу Irresistible Temptation - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 6

‘THIS train is now approaching Paddington. Will passengers make sure they take their luggage and all personal possessions with them?’

Olivia swallowed as the announcement came over the system, her fingers tightening round the strap of her bag. She rose, made her way along the swaying carriage to the luggage rack at the far end, and retrieved her suitcase. She’d been on edge throughout the journey, and now that it was almost over her stomach was churning with nervous excitement.

It’s all right, she told herself. Very soon now you’ll be with Jeremy, and everything will be fine. This is what you want. What you’ve dreamed of. And all you have to do is—go for it.

She took the slip of paper from her pocket, and glanced at it again. 16 Lancey Gardens, W11, she repeated soundlessly to herself for the umpteenth time.

‘That’s the Ladbroke Grove area in Notting Hill,’ Beth, her more knowledgeable flatmate had told her, brows lifted. ‘Very swish.’

‘He’s got a marvellous job,’ Olivia said proudly. ‘He can afford it.’

‘There’s nothing the matter with your job.’ Beth gave her a measuring look. ‘So why pack it all in and go chasing rainbows—in the Smoke?’

‘You know why.’ Olivia began transferring neat piles of undies and nightwear from the chest of drawers to the open case on the bed.

‘Livvy—he’s a married man, for God’s sake.’

‘Some marriage—with her in Bristol and him in London,’ Olivia retorted. ‘Beth—it’s over; believe me. It’s been dead for more than a year now. They want different things. She’s totally wrapped up in her career. Didn’t I show you that piece in the paper announcing she’d just been made a partner in her law firm?’

‘Which only proves she’s doing well. Wives are allowed to, you know. It’s not a male prerogative any more.’ Beth’s tone was dry. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t give you carte blanche to pursue her husband to London.’

‘Jeremy and I want to be together,’ Olivia insisted. ‘And it’s time we took positive steps to achieve this.’

‘Is that how Jeremy sees it?’ Beth’s look of mild enquiry metamorphosed into a frown. ‘My God, Livvy. You have told him you’re joining him? Haven’t you?’

‘Not exactly,’ Olivia said defensively. ‘But it was always understood that we’d be together in London. It was just a question of timing. And, with Maria getting her partnership, this is clearly the time.’

‘He’s been in London for three months. Shouldn’t you have got together at some point? Discussed things?’

Olivia shrugged. ‘He’s been busy—settling into a new job—new flat. We talk on the phone—and write.’

‘You write,’ said Beth. ‘He phones—sometimes.’

Olivia’s mouth tightened. ‘You don’t really like Jeremy, do you?’

‘I haven’t any feelings about him either way.’ Beth was dismissive. ‘But I don’t like what he’s doing to you. The games he’s playing.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Olivia tucked tissue into the folds of a black skirt.

‘Yes, you do, but clearly you don’t want to talk about it. So I’ll just say this—if I was going with a guy, I’d want a bit more out of the relationship than a few vague promises of eternal bliss—some time.’ Beth’s tone was edged.

Olivia flushed. ‘If you’re talking about sex …’

‘Which I am.’

‘Then we want that too, of course, but it didn’t seem right. Not while he was still living here in Bristol with Maria. Now the separation is official, we can—make our own commitment to each other.’

‘Such passion,’ Beth commented wryly.

‘It’s not just an affair,’ Olivia insisted. ‘We want to build a life together—a home—ultimately a family. My joining him in London is the first step on the way.’

‘Then I hope it all works out for you, I really do.’ Beth gave her a swift hug. ‘But I won’t advertise your room immediately—just in case …’

Remembering, Olivia frowned as she hefted her case along the platform, and out on to the main concourse. The train had been crowded, mostly, she suspected, with Saturday shoppers, and she had to thread her way through a mass of people to find the taxi rank.

Beth means well, she thought, taking her place in the queue, and setting her case down thankfully. But she doesn’t really know Jeremy. Not like I do.

There hardly seemed a time when he hadn’t been part of her life. They’d grown up in the same Somerset village, and Olivia had always been slightly in awe of his blond good looks, and the assurance bestowed by his six years’ seniority over her. She’d been shyly happy when he’d come home for the school holidays, however little attention he’d paid her, and she’d grieved silently when he’d left for university.

During his second year away, his parents had sold their house and moved to a smaller property on the coast, and she’d decided sadly that she’d never see him again.

Their meeting last year in a Bristol wine bar had been the purest coincidence. She’d been there with a colleague from work, unwinding after a long, hard day teaching computerised office systems to a particularly unreceptive bunch of secretaries.

Jeremy had been with a crowd of people at a leaving do on the other side of the room. The wine bar had been full, and not particularly well-lit, but she’d recognised him at once. Heard him laugh. Had seen his brilliant smile flash as he’d turned to trade cheerful insults with another member of his party.

When he’d gone up to the bar, she’d followed. Touched his sleeve …

‘Hello, Jeremy. I don’t expect you remember me …’

He turned, brows lifting in sudden hauteur, which disappeared like the sun breaking through clouds as he registered her presence.

‘Livvy Butler—by all that’s wonderful. I don’t believe it. How long has it been?’

Too long, she thought, bathed in the warmth of that smile. Basking, for once, in his undivided attention.

‘You look terrific.’ His blue eyes took in everything, from the streaked brown hair enhanced by a fortnight in the Greek sun, to the pink enamel on the toenails peeping from her chic, high-heeled sandals. He glanced round. ‘Are you with someone, or can we talk?’

‘I was just leaving …’

‘No, don’t do that. Look, those people in the corner are going. Grab their table while I get us a drink. Is Chardonnay all right?’

She’d have drunk wolfsbane if he’d offered it to her.

Moments later, they were sitting at the corner table, and he was pouring wine into her glass.

‘Are you sure your friends won’t mind?’ she asked doubtfully.

Jeremy shrugged. ‘I’ve done my duty. The way things are going, my absence won’t even be noticed.’ He handed over her glass. Raised his own in a toast. ‘Happy meetings, Livvy. Tell me, what are you doing in Bristol?’

Waiting for you, she thought, as she raised her glass in turn. But I never knew it until this moment …

The taxi queue shuffled up, and Olivia shuffled with it, impatience building inside her. Why couldn’t all these people wanting Harrods or Selfridges share each other’s cabs, and save their money and her precious time?

Now that she was here, she wanted to be with Jeremy. Needed to see his face light up with incredulity and delight, and his arms opening wide to enfold her.

When it had started, it had been purely platonic. Just two old friends meeting for the odd drink—the occasional meal. Jeremy had made no secret of the fact that he was married, and she’d respected him for that.

She couldn’t remember the moment when she first registered that all might not be well in his marriage. Jeremy always spoke with pride of his wife’s career achievements, but was reticent—even tight-lipped—about their personal relationship, and gradually she’d found herself wondering.

Then, one day, he’d rung her at work and asked almost abruptly if she’d have dinner with him that evening. When she’d arrived at the restaurant, she’d found a candlelit table for two, and champagne waiting on ice.

‘It’s my birthday,’ he’d told her quietly. ‘Unfortunately, my wife is too busy preparing a major case for the Crown Court to come out with me. Thanks for making time for me, Livvy.’

Over the evening, Jeremy had spoken openly about his marriage for the first time.

‘With Maria, the job comes first, second and third,’ he’d said bitterly. ‘I’m not even sure I end up a poor fourth.’

‘That can’t be true.’ She’d put her hand over his. ‘You’ve been married such a short time. You have to talk it out—reach some kind of compromise …’

‘How can you talk to someone who won’t admit there’s a problem?’ He’d shaken his head. ‘I’m not certain we’ve ever had a marriage at all.’ His fingers had closed round hers. ‘I should have waited, Livvy,’ he’d said huskily. ‘Waited for you. I know that now. Tell me it’s not too late.’

‘Wake up, love.’ The taxi driver’s strident voice broke impatiently into her reverie. ‘Do you want a cab or not?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Red-faced, Olivia gave him her destination and heaved her case on board, collapsing back on to the seat as the cab moved off.

She hardly knew London at all, she reflected. Her only previous visits had been brief sightseeing trips when she was much younger. Living here would be a totally different matter.

She was used to heavy traffic in Bristol, but it didn’t compare with the sheer volume confronting her now. The cab was crawling along, hemmed in by other vehicles, only occasionally diving through some tiny gap, as if making a bid for freedom.

Selling her car had been the right decision, she acknowledged ruefully. She couldn’t envisage a time when she would dare drive through this mayhem.

The noise seemed to batter at her eardrums, and the air which reached her through the half-open window was stale and fume-laden.

She turned her gaze resolutely to the shops on either side of the street. She supposed there would come a time when they’d be as familiar to her as those in her own village, but just at the moment it didn’t seem likely.

She wanted to ask the cabbie where they were, but her sole remark about the weather had been greeted with a monosyllable, so she stayed silent.

The shops gave way to houses, big and solid, with impressive porticoes and an unmistakable air of affluence.

Olivia felt her throat tighten. It couldn’t be far now, she thought, casting an anxious eye at the cab’s meter.

Eventually, the taxi turned left into a long curved terrace of tall white houses, each approached by a short flight of stone steps and fronted by railings.

‘Did you say number sixteen?’ the cabbie called back to her.

‘Yes,’ she said, dry-mouthed, as they drew to a halt. Leaning forward, she saw smart dark blue paintwork, and a window box still bright with flowers in the September sunlight.

She stood on the pavement, and watched the departing cab as if it was her last link with reality. Then she turned, and looked back at the house. The curtains were half closed, but a ground-floor window was open at the top, and she could hear the faint sound of music.

So Jeremy was at home, she thought, relief flooding over her.

Slowly, she carried her case up the steps. There were two brass bells beside the front door, with one marked ‘B’. She pressed the unmarked one, and waited.

For an eternity, nothing happened, and she was just about to ring again when she heard the sound of locks being unfastened inside the house.

She took a deep breath, feeling her mouth shape itself into a nervous rictus of a smile.

The door opened, and Olivia found herself confronted by a complete stranger. Or was he? Although she knew they’d never met, his face seemed oddly familiar just the same.

He was tall, with untidy dark hair falling across his forehead, a beak of a nose, and a shadow of stubble on a determined chin. His eyes were a strange shade between blue and grey that seemed almost silvery, and fringed with long lashes. The deep lines beside his firm-lipped mouth had clearly been scored there by cynical amusement.

Although he wasn’t showing much evidence of a sense of humour at the moment. On the contrary, he looked profoundly and wearily irritated.

He was wearing a navy silk dressing gown, which hung open to the waist, revealing a strong, hair-shadowed chest. This garment, which only reached to mid-thigh on his lean, muscular legs, was obviously his only covering, and secured haphazardly by a sash at his waist, Olivia realised with sudden discomfort.

His bored gaze assessed her dismissively, taking in the brief denim skirt, the white shirt and black blazer. Olivia returned his disparaging glance with energy and interest, and saw his mouth tighten.

‘Yes?’

Did all Londoners deal in discouraging monosyllables? Olivia wondered.

She lifted her chin. ‘I’d like to see Jeremy Attwood, please. He—he’s expecting me,’ she added, into the ensuing silence.

Leaning against the doorjamb, he gave her another, longer look, which this time took in the suitcase at her feet. The straight dark brows snapped together in a frown.

Then, ‘I don’t think so,’ he said, and made to shut the door.

‘Oh, wait.’ Dismayed, Olivia lunged forward, grabbing the edge of the door. ‘If you’ll just tell Jeremy I’m here …’

He shook his head. ‘Can’t be done. And please let go of my door,’ he added coldly. ‘You can lose a handful of fingers pulling a stunt like that.’

Olivia disregarded that. ‘But he does live here?’ And, receiving a brief, affirmative nod, ‘Then why won’t you fetch him for me?’

‘Because he’s not here now,’ she was told. ‘He’s away for the weekend, so it’s unlikely he was expecting any visitors, least of all you. Now, take your hand away from the door and clear off quietly, like a good girl.’

‘Not here?’ Olivia repeated, stunned. ‘Oh, I don’t believe it.’

The silvery eyes became chips of ice. ‘Well, I don’t propose to allow you to search the house, Miss—er?’

‘I’m Olivia Butler. Has Jeremy not mentioned me?’

Slowly and silently he shook his head, his eyes narrowing.

It was a setback, but not irretrievable, she told herself.

She took another deep breath, forcing a smile. ‘Well, it doesn’t really matter. I—I’m sorry that I’ve arrived at a bad time, and clearly I should have checked with Jeremy first, but no real harm done.’

‘I think,’ he said softly, ‘that I’ll be the judge of that. What exactly do you want, Miss Butler?’

‘Firstly, I’d like to come in,’ she said. ‘I’ve been on a hot, stuffy train and I’d like to freshen up.’

‘Naturally,’ he said. ‘But what makes you think this is an appropriate place to do it? Was there no restroom at the station—Euston—Waterloo or whatever?’

‘Paddington,’ she said. ‘Of course there was. But that’s not the point.’

‘Then what is the point?’ He was still blocking the doorway. ‘I would really like to know.’

No more beating round the bush, Olivia decided.

She said, ‘I’ve come here to live—to be with Jeremy.’

He didn’t appear to move, and there was no visible change in his expression, yet Olivia sensed a new and dangerous tension in the atmosphere. She felt as if he’d taken one menacing stride towards her, and she had to overcome the impulse to take a step backwards.

‘That’s very enterprising of you,’ he drawled, after a long pause. ‘Did you know that Jeremy is married?’

‘I certainly know that he’s separated,’ she corrected coolly. ‘And, anyway, I think that’s our business, not yours.’

‘On the contrary, I concern myself with all kinds of things.’ He paused again. ‘I suggest you give me the address where you’ll be staying, and I’ll pass it on to Jeremy when he returns. Then, if he wishes to make contact, he can.’

‘Address?’ Olivia repeated in bewilderment. ‘But I’m staying here—to wait for him.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘You’re not.’

‘I don’t understand …’

‘It’s perfectly simple. You want to move in. I’m telling you it’s not going to happen.’

Her lips parted helplessly. ‘You mean you’re turning me away?’

‘Now you’re getting there,’ he approved sardonically. ‘Foolish it may be, but I don’t give house room to indigent girls who turn up out of the blue claiming acquaintance with a member of the household.’

‘I’m far from indigent, and it’s rather more than acquaintance,’ she said hotly.

‘So you say.’ He shrugged, and the dressing gown slipped a fraction. ‘Sorry, darling. Better luck elsewhere.’

‘But I’ve nowhere else to go.’ Olivia heard and despised the faint squeak of panic in her voice. ‘I—I don’t know anyone in London.’

‘Then here’s some excellent advice.’ His voice was suddenly harsh. ‘Go back to wherever you came from, and we’ll pretend this never happened.’

The momentary fear gave way to anger. ‘I don’t need your advice,’ she said curtly. ‘Nor am I leaving. And when I see Jeremy I’ll tell him exactly the kind of welcome I received at his home. You can count on that.’

‘Whereas you, sweetheart, can’t count on a thing.’ She felt her anger matched by his. ‘It’s a pity you didn’t check he’d be around before you set out. Not that it would have made any real difference,’ he added, with another perilous shrug. ‘I still wouldn’t let you stay. Now run along.’

‘Damn you,’ she said furiously. ‘Who the hell do you think you are? And just what right have you to tell me what to do?’

‘I happen to own this house.’ His voice was like ice. ‘Which gives me any rights I choose to assume, lady.’

‘But Jeremy …’

‘Jeremy is my guest—my temporary lodger, nothing more. Whatever he may have told you, or you chose to believe,’ he added with crushing emphasis.

She wanted to scream at him—call him a liar. But there was something about his words which held the ring of truth.

She also wanted to die. But not, she decided, before she had murdered this sneering man in front of her. Until she had hurt and humiliated him, and ground him into the dust before dancing on his unmarked grave.

But that, unfortunately, had to be in the long term. Right now she needed somewhere affordable to stay.

She wasn’t poor by any means, she reminded herself. She had a respectable balance in her current account, and a credit card. She could get by until she found a job.

And she’d intended to pay her way with Jeremy. That went without saying. It was going to be a partnership, not charity.

But common sense told her that her resources would soon dwindle if she had to fork out for a London hotel, even for a couple of nights. Nor had she the least idea where to start looking. Anything in this vicinity would be right out of her range.

She looked at the case beside her, and groaned inwardly. How far could she carry it before her arm came out of its socket?

In her home village, she thought, swallowing, they wouldn’t treat a stray dog like this.

She looked stonily at her persecutor. ‘I don’t suppose you’d let me leave my luggage here while I go and look for a room?’

‘Quite correct,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t. And for two pins I’d let you tramp the streets to teach you a much-needed lesson. But I can’t do that, because London is not a place where you turn up on the off-chance. You could end up in all kinds of trouble—things you’ve never envisaged in your worst nightmares. And I don’t want that on my conscience.’

‘Thanks for the pious platitudes,’ Olivia said. She was shaking inwardly with rage. ‘What have you in mind? The coal shed?’

‘Alas, no.’ He reached forward and picked up her case, handling it easily. ‘You’d better come in while I talk to someone.’

‘You mean I’m being allowed to pollute your sacred portals?’ She followed him into a wide hall. On the left, a flight of stairs carpeted in pale green led to the upper floors. On the right, an open door showed her a room fitted out as an office, with a fax machine, a photocopier and a state-of-the-art computer sitting on a workman-like desk. This was where the music was coming from, too.

‘Not for long,’ he tossed back over his shoulder, leading the way to the rear of the house. ‘And don’t consider going for squatters’ rights, either.’

She’d been about to ask what computer system he used, attempt to establish that she had a life and a career, and wasn’t just some helpless hopeful. Now all she hoped was that the whole thing would crash spectacularly at some crucial moment.

He stood back, allowing her to precede him. ‘You can wait in here. Please don’t make yourself too comfortable. I’m just going to make a phone call.’

‘And put some clothes on as well?’ Olivia gave the dressing gown an acid glance.

‘This,’ he said softly, ‘is my Saturday morning. I will dress—and do—as I like.’ He tightened the sash with ostentatious care. ‘Just remember, lady, you came knocking on my door, not the other way round.’

Biting her lip, Olivia walked past him. She found herself in a long rectangular room with one wall that seemed to be made entirely of glass. The main item of furniture was a long refectory table supplied with high-backed oak chairs. On the table, beside a newspaper folded open at an inside page, was a used plate and knife, an empty mug, and a dish of dark red jam. A lingering fragrance of coffee and warm croissant still hung in the air from the adjoining kitchen.

Despite her best efforts, Olivia felt her nose twitch longingly. It had been a long time since the blueberry muffin and carton of hot chocolate which she’d consumed at Bristol Temple Meads Station.

But something warned her that it would be an even longer time before the Owner offered her a sip of his espresso.

Swine, she thought. Greedy, selfish pig.

To take her mind off her empty stomach, she wandered over to the French windows. Beyond them, she saw a mass of greenery. No walls or fences, she noted, puzzled. Just a riot of tall shrubs and huge trees, already heavy with approaching autumn. There were late-flowering roses, too, and great banks of fuchsias and hydrangeas. Behind the leafy barrier she caught a glimpse of the more strident green of a lawn. And a sunlit dazzle of water.

She drew a swift breath of sheer appreciation. This garden seemed to stretch for ever, its only confine the wide gravelled path which circled it.

It was the last thing she’d expected to find, here in the middle of the city—this wonderful secret wilderness.

It was like the garden behind her parents’ home, she thought, although on a vastly larger scale, and for a moment she was assailed by a pang of homesickness so strong that she could have cried out.

‘Is something wrong?’ The Owner had joined her, tapping out numbers on a cordless phone. Clearly he didn’t miss much.

‘I—I was just looking at the garden.’ Olivia bit her lip. ‘It’s beautiful. Who—who does it belong to?’

‘Everyone whose house backs on to it,’ he returned laconically. ‘It’s a communal venture.’

Then, into the phone, ‘Sasha—sorry to annoy you at the weekend, but do you have any place available in that doss-house of yours?’ The lines beside his mouth deepened in amusement as he studied Olivia’s sudden rigidity. ‘Yes, just one waif and stray—female—wandering in off the street.’

He laughed. ‘No, not feline, although I’d say she had claws.’ He listened for a moment, grinning. ‘Not a chance, my love. She’s definitely not my type, and claims to be spoken for anyway. You can? You’re a saint. I’ll send her round.’

He switched off the phone. ‘Well, that’s you fixed up.’

She glared at him. ‘It never occurred to you that I’d like to make my own arrangements, I suppose?’

‘Frankly, no.’ His grin deepened. ‘So, what was your major plan? Camping on my doorstep, looking hopeless and helpless, until Jeremy comes back?’ He shook his head. ‘You’d lower the tone of the neighbourhood.

‘No, you’ll be all right with Sasha,’ he went on, ignoring her furious gasp. ‘Her lodgers seem to be a transient population, so she’s usually got a room free.’

‘Sasha.’ Olivia paused. ‘Is she Russian?’

‘No.’ His face softened momentarily, making him seem almost human. Even attractive. And increasing that vague sense of familiarity. ‘Just eccentric.’

He gave her a level look with no amusement at all. ‘And she’s got a kind heart, so I would take it personally if she was made a fool of in any way. By someone doing a runner, for instance, without paying the rent.’

‘She’ll be paid.’ Olivia stopped trying to work out where she could possibly have seen him before, and reverted effortlessly to simply loathing him again. ‘Although I don’t expect to be staying there long.’

‘Of course not. You’ll be waiting for Jeremy to provide a suitable love-nest, no doubt. And maybe he will. Only it won’t be under my roof.’

‘And what the hell has it to do with you?’

He shrugged, unruffled. ‘As I mentioned, he’s married. Maybe I have more scruples.’

And, as if on cue, a girl’s voice called, ‘Declan—Declan, darling, where are you?’

Olivia, glancing toward the hall, could see long bare legs descending the stairs. Up to that moment she’d thought no one could be wearing less than her reluctant host, but she was wrong.

The redhead who now appeared and stood, posing coquettishly, in the doorway was using a peach-coloured towel as an inadequate sarong.

‘Darling,’ she said, pouting reproachfully. ‘I woke up and couldn’t find you. It was horrid.’ She glanced towards Olivia, her glance hardening fractionally. ‘But I didn’t realise you were—entertaining.’

Her laugh was slightly metallic. ‘If this is your latest, then your taste must be slipping.’

Indignant colour flared in Olivia’s face at this piece of gratuitous rudeness, but before she could speak Declan stepped forward.

‘Wrong on all counts, Melinda, my sweet. Ms Butler is just a passing acquaintance.’ He sent Olivia an edged look. ‘And, hopefully, passing out of my life for good very soon. Now go back to bed, and I’ll see you presently.’

The girl sent him a radiant smile, the tip of her pink tongue caressing her lower lip. ‘Is that a promise?’ she asked huskily.

‘Trust me.’ His voice was low-pitched, intimate. The air in the room seemed suddenly alive—electric.

For a shocked moment, Olivia was aware of a slight frisson—a tingle down her own spine.

The Owner might be loathsome, but he was also undeniably sexy—if you liked that sort of thing. As the redhead falling out of the peach towel obviously did, for she was turning and trailing obediently back upstairs.

Olivia felt oddly desolate, suddenly. But small wonder, she thought. After all, she’d arrived expecting a blissful reunion with Jeremy, leading to a passionate consummation, and instead here she was, an intruder, forced into the role of voyeur in someone else’s love-life.

There was a strange silence in the room that she needed to break.

She cleared her throat. ‘I gather you don’t have any moral scruples about your own conduct?’

‘Correct.’ His grin was unabashed. ‘But I’m not married, and never have been. That makes a difference.’ He paused. ‘Nor am I a home-wrecker.’

The atmosphere tingled again.

Olivia said coldly and clearly, ‘If you’ll give me this woman’s address, I’ll go.’

He picked up a message pad and wrote on it. ‘It’s on the other side of the garden. You’ll be able to pick up a black cab at the end of the road if you can’t walk that far with your luggage.’

‘I hope you don’t expect me to thank you effusively.’ Olivia accepted the slip of paper, then stalked into the hall and picked up her case.

‘I gave up believing in miracles a long time ago.’ He unfastened the front door and held it open for her. ‘Goodbye, Ms Butler.’

‘Oh, that’s such a final word,’ she said with saccharine sweetness. ‘I much prefer au revoir, don’t you?’

‘Not,’ he said, ‘where you’re concerned. I’ll tell Jeremy where he can find you. Against my better judgement, I may say,’ he added grimly.

The door slammed, shutting her out into a sunlit day which seemed suddenly to have lost its warmth.

‘To hell with him,’ she muttered, hefting her case down the steps. ‘Jeremy will be back soon—and then our life together will begin.’

She gave a last look back at the house.

‘And there isn’t a thing you can do about it,’ she added defiantly, just as if he was listening.

She walked away, without looking back, but found herself wondering, at the same time, if he was standing at one of the windows, watching her go. And, if so, precisely why should it matter to her anyway?