Shadows (2 page)

She shook her head at her own stupidity.  Now he would think she was some sad sack who couldn’t get on with people.

“Then I arrived and blocked your escape?”  Rory glanced over the room.  “I don’t think we’d miss anything exciting if you let me give you dinner.  I’ve come straight from the office and I’m hungry.”

Alarm widened her eyes before she could control it.  “Oh, but—”

Rory swayed back at her reaction, one large hand rising between them.  “Jonny would have my head in a basket if I stepped out of line, so you’ll be quite safe.”  His glance swept the nearby tables.  “He never has any real food at these things, and I can’t exist on olives and silver skins.  I know a little Italian place around the corner and we could be there in five minutes.  I hate to eat alone.  Please come.”

A quiver of excitement ran through her belly.  She hardly knew him, yet spending an hour or two with him would be amazing.  The way he tilted his head and spoke the last few words while gazing directly into her eyes, charmed her.  She ought to refuse.

But, drunk on the sound of his voice, a few minutes later Melissa found herself seated in a small dim restaurant with no clear idea of how she’d got there.  To refuse his invitation would have accused Jonny’s friend of having designs on her virtue.

As if.

Men didn’t normally have designs on her at all.  She hadn't been out to dinner with a man in several months, so she may as well enjoy the experience when it offered.  After all, what harm could come from sharing dinner with a friend of a friend?

And yet, anyone could hurt you.  A man who, for two years told you he loved you, could hurt you.  Just as Adrian had walked out, left her for a girl who wore skirts so tight that the indentation of her belly button showed through the cheap stretch fabric.

Terrified that she might be making another mistake she couldn’t afford, Melissa sat at the table of the smart restaurant like a stuffed dummy and couldn't think of anything smart or sophisticated to say.  Clenching her hands together under the table, she had only a moment or two in which to pull herself together.

She studied Rory while he discussed the menu with the waiter. He really was an attractive man with his well-cut shirt, silk tie and navy suit.  His high cheekbones and long, straight nose gave him a craggy look and his hairstyle, shorn to an inch all over his head, accentuated the masculine look.  The dim lighting emphasized the dark shadow where his beard would be come morning.  His hands might be large, but they were well shaped and his nails so very clean she suspected he might have them manicured.

The waiter glided off into the gloom, and Rory sat back and regarded her.  “Do you like the restaurant?”

She jerked to attention as if someone had stuck a pin in her.  “Oh I do, very much.”  Her fingertips smoothed the starched white linen tablecloth.  She took a deep, calming breath and concentrated on the shallow bowl of blue and pink anemones in the centre of the table.  “Is the food as good as the ambiance?”

“The food will make you forget the ambiance.  Now, tell me about yourself.”  He leaned forward, causing the candle flame to flicker between them.

Melissa blinked, disconcerted by the sudden hint of intimacy and swayed back in her chair, but not before she noticed his two front teeth were slightly crossed.  She forced her gaze away from his mouth.  He'd think she was a besotted idiot if she didn't sort herself out.  “I’m twenty-two, from an army family settled in Hexham and I’ve been in London a couple of years now.”  She’d better gather her wits, for there were things about herself she did not reveal to anyone.  Her promise to mother must be kept.

“Where did you run into Jonny?”

“Through a friend at university.”

“Where you studied…?”

“English Language and Literature.  Very boring.”

Completely at ease, he laughed.  “Why do it, then?”

“Oh, I didn’t find it boring, but I think everyone else does.  Their eyes glaze over when I mention it.  They want something more entertaining, like Forensic Science, or Media Studies.  Things they can talk about.”

“Hexham?  Where’s that?”

Melissa sucked a breath between her teeth.  The question was one she had heard often since she moved south, but she didn’t like it any better for that.  “Twenty miles west of Newcastle.”  She lifted her brows.  “I take it you’ve heard of Newcastle?  The city has over three hundred and fifty thousand inhabitants.  Most Londoners think savages live in the far north.”

“I’ve heard of it.”  His smile flashed and vanished.  “I went to university there.”

At his statement, she stiffened and stopped fiddling with the centerpiece flowers.  He had deliberately pretended ignorance to tease her.  Slowly she raised her head and met his blue eyes.  “Then how is it you’ve never heard of Hexham?”  She could hear the edge on her voice and didn't care.

Rory lifted his shoulders gently.  “I wanted to give you something to say.  You seemed nervous.”

The arrogant and condescending words burned in her mind.  Blood thudded in her ears and scorched her face.  She lifted her chin.  “Tell me about Hexham, otherwise I won’t believe you.”

A gold cufflink flashed in the candlelight as he interlaced his fingers.  “A small market town with an abbey and a polished stone chair with a crack across it.  St Wilfrid’s chair.”

“You could have read that in a guidebook.  How many bridges are there?”

He rolled his lips to prevent a grin.  “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“You shouldn’t have patronized me.”  Irritation filled her.  She must have been mad to ever accept his invitation to dinner.  Girls probably fell at his feet.  Well, she would not add to their numbers.  Arrogant men were her least favorite of the human species.  Unless…was it possible Rory was merely being thoughtful, giving her a chance to speak of something familiar?  Well, if he had, that was patronizing, wasn’t it?

“I didn’t mean to annoy you.”  His blue eyes considered her.  “I expect you’re thinking of the old bridge in the Abbey grounds.  The stream runs on through the old tanners’ yard out across the street and then dives into a culvert.”

His tone was soft, almost caressing.  The sound brought back all her original attraction.  She wanted to snuggle close to him.  Alarmed at the idea, aware that her emotions were all over the place, she ducked her head and stared at the centerpiece again.  “All right.  I believe you.”  She’d made a fool of herself, and no doubt looked awful.  Her cheeks would be scarlet by now.

He reached across the table at the same moment the waiter glided out of the gloom and presented a bottle of red wine.  Melissa sank back in her chair.  Had he been about to take her hand?  Was he so confident of her admiration?

While he tasted the wine, she glanced around the plush décor.  How expensive would the bill be at the end of the evening?  She wasn’t carrying much beyond her taxi fare home.  Hopefully he'd play the gentleman, and pay for dinner.

That was probably unfair of her.  Why should he pay for her?  She’d been rude to him so far.  But he shouldn’t have offered if he couldn’t afford the meal.

He lifted his wine glass in an elegant gesture, and waited.  Melissa seized the glass that had been poured for her, and tasted the ruby red liquid.  “Excellent,” she muttered.  She didn’t want to appear unappreciative.  Especially if she was about to leave him with a hefty bill.  The waiter, satisfied, moved away.

“Good.”  Rory beamed at her across the table.  “So, have you lived all your life in Hexham?”

She nodded.  “Until I went to university in Durham, and then on here.”

“Durham?  That’s where Jonny went.”  He waited as the waiter brought their food.  “Lovely old city.  That’s where you met him?”

Melissa nodded, surveyed her plate and speared a piece of venison.  “What about you?  Where are you from?”

He frowned, as if the thought displeased him.  “Tranent, near Edinburgh.  Father a doctor, mother a teacher.  Solid Presbyterian folk.  I have two brothers.”

Not a fun-filled childhood, she decided, hearing his clipped tones.  She remembered her comment about savages living in the north, and cringed.  He came from much further north than Newcastle.  Hastily she asked the first question that came to mind.  “Do they look like you?”

“More or less.  They’re younger.”

“Your mother must feel overwhelmed with four men in the house.  What did she teach?”  She sipped her wine, which would give her the boldness she needed to deal with this man.

“History.  She gave it up when she married.”

Melissa waited, a piece of lettuce poised on her fork, but Rory added nothing else.  His averted gaze told her he really didn’t like talking about his family.  Why the reticence?  Curiosity swarmed through her.  “Did she not regret that?”

He sighed.  “My parents have strong beliefs about raising children.  They don’t approve of the modern practice of putting kids in nurseries while the mother goes out to work.”

“Really?  How old-fashioned.  Single-parent families would be considered beyond the pale, then.”  Her heart began to thud in her chest.  Head down, she concentrated on cutting her venison.  Don’t panic.  Once he says goodnight you’ll probably never meet him again.

“Oh, certainly.  How about your parents?”

“A little different.”  This was where she must be careful.  She suspected the truth would not go down well, and anyway she was not free to divulge it.  The promise to her mother must be kept.  “Both my parents were Army people.”  Well, that wasn’t a lie, though some might consider her answer evasive.

“Your mother too?”  He sounded surprised.

Melissa placed her knife and fork together on the plate.  She must get away from this topic before she said too much.  “Yes, that’s where they met.  I have a brother.  He’s in the same accountancy firm as Jonny.”  She offered a smile.  “Accountancy and law are interesting professions and certainly pay more than librarianship.”

“I imagine they do.  So neither of you chose the Army?”

He was back to personal questions again.  Just what she didn't want.  Her hands gripped together in her lap for comfort in the lull between courses.  “I don’t know about Gareth, but I had more than enough of camping out in all weathers and hiking over wet hillsides all through our childhood.  I wanted something quieter.”  Desperate to shift the conversation, she smiled.  “Did you ever camp out?  We had some wonderful times.”

She sat back as dessert appeared, and picked up her spoon.

“Tell me one of your adventures.”

She probed the raspberries and meringue.  “The funniest one was in Scotland, I remember.  We drove onto a lovely green spot and the car sank up to its axles before we’d gone ten feet.”

He groaned but went on spooning up cream and raspberries.

“Cars pulled up to help but nothing would shift it out of the mud.  In the end they shoved me into the driving seat because I was the lightest, and everyone pushed from the rear.”  No need to tell him neither her father nor her brother had been involved.  “I remember it so well even now.  The car roared onto the road and when I looked back they were all covered in mud that flew up from beneath the back wheels.”

Rory chuckled.  “Sounds like fun.”  His mouth turned down.  “All I recall of holidays is sober visits to boring museums.  Castles were better, but they weren’t geared to children then.  No touching, no running, no enjoying yourself.”

“Museums are good.”

“Of course.”  He offered a swift, sparkling glance.  “You work in one, or something very like a museum.”

While she had been speaking, he had cleared his plate.  Melissa was still eating when he placed his elbows on the table and clasped his fingers together.  “I have a girlfriend.”  He said it in a flat, brisk tone, without looking at her.

Melissa paused with her spoon halfway to mouth.  Her stomach plunged as it did when she used a lift.  Had she misheard him?  One glance at his face told her she wasn't mistaken.  She let the spoon tilt.  The raspberries, suddenly unappetizing, slid back into the dish.

“That’s a pity.”  Oh, Lord.  Why had she said that?  Now he would think she had been considering him as potential boyfriend material.  She lowered her spoon and eyed Rory with suspicion.  What had this to do with her?  Yet it had.  An absurd lump sat in the middle of her chest and threatened her breathing.

“Not necessarily.”  He sat forward, elbows on the table, hands twined together before his face.  “I can break it off tomorrow if you think it worthwhile.”

The lump twisted uncomfortably.  A moment ago, she'd been happy.  Now she was not far from bursting into tears. What was she supposed to say?  Demand he should ditch the girlfriend immediately?  Was that what she really wanted?  Aware that she was moving her fork and spoon aimlessly back and forth across the plate, she placed them neatly and with great care across the centre, sat back and folded her arms.  “Why might I think it would be worthwhile?”