The Golden Maze (21 page)

"Hullo," he said cheerfully.

"But ... Peter ... what are you doing here ?" And

then she understood, or thought she did. "I'm afraid

I haven't had time to do any research yet," she added.

He folded the paper neatly, stood up and came down the stairs to stand on the small landing by her side.

"I came to ask you to dinner," he said with a smile. just as if it was the most natural thing in the world, Cindy thought. Somehow it riled her, so she lifted her chin.

"That's funny—you're the third man today who's asked me out," she told him.

"Is that so ?" Peter began to laugh. "Looks as if I'm a bit late, Some other time ?" He began to turn away and she knew she couldn't do it.

"I said no to the others," she almost whispered.

Peter nodded as he turned back. "I'm glad. I'm really here," he went on, lightly chatting, "to fight your boss. I admit it's hardly fair, for you haven't been working until nine-thirty tonight, nor will we, I hope, both spend the evening yawning." It was his pompous tone she knew so well and loved. As usual it made her laugh.

"I'd better change," she began.

He looked her up and down thoughtfully, at the white laced boots, the unbuttoned long green coat, the little matching hat perched on her chestnut-brown hair that hung to her shoulders.

"I like you as you are," he said lightly, taking her arm. "Come on. No wonder you're slim, climbing up and down these stairs so often !"

His car was parked close by. As usual it was difficult to find a parking place in the West End, but

he finally succeeded, as he always succeeded, Cindy thought. She hardly talked, glad to leave it to him, yet all the time she was wondering what this was all about. Why had he driven all this way to take her out to dinner? Was he feeling guilty? Was this to be a compensation for Yvonne's behaviour? Or was he just being kind ?

Despite her tenseness and her knowledge that being with him like this would only make it worse when the parting came again, Cindy enjoyed the evening. A good dinner, then dancing.

She had never been in Peter's arms before. H
e was much taller than she was.
O
h,
she was not tempted to put her cheek against his ! He danced the old way and actually she preferred it; perhaps because it meant she was in his arms, she thought, and could fool herself for a while.

The evening fled by with Cindy wishing it would not end, and then Peter took her back to the bedsitter. In the hall, he looked down at her.

"Well?" he asked.

"Well ?" she echoed, puzzled.

"Was I as kind and thoughtful as him?"

"As who?"

Peter chuckled. "Your boss, of course. You were always praising him. Was I? I mean, how am I as a rival ? Have I any hope ?"

Cindy was tired and suddenly not in a mood for jokes.

"A hope of what?" she asked crossly.

Peter took hold of her shoulders and looked down at her. "Have I a hope of being a more suitable husband than your beloved boss?"

She stared up at him. Her throat seemed to tighten, her nose prickled. How could he be so cruel, taunting her? she wondered.

"Is this some kind of a joke ?" she asked angrily.

"A joke ?" Peter sounded shocked. "Look, Cindy, I knew your boss meant a lot to you. I could tell that from the way you wanted to get back to London, but then ... well, after you'd gone, it was so quiet and lonely and I had time to think. It was then I realised just how stupid I'd been. Maybe it was seeing Caterina, the gipsy, who reminded me of the family curse. I think I told you about it? That the family would never be free of the curse until the castle owner's wife ceased to be a meek little mouse. I realised then that I was acting like a meek little mouse."

Cindy found herself laughing, for he looked so odd, so solemn. "You—a meek little mouse? Oh, Peter !"

"I mean it." He didn't even smile. "I asked myself why I had been willing to accept the fact that you loved your boss. Why hadn't I asked you. So here I am. Cindy, do you love your boss ?"

"Of course I don't ! I never did." Cindy was getting confused again. What did Peter mean? He couldn't . ?

But it seemed he could, for he suddenly put his arms round her, his face near hers as he said quietly :

"Then you mean—? There is some hope for me ?"

"Oh, Peter !" Maddeningly the tears slid down her cheeks, but Peter took no notice.

"You really mean?" he asked, his arms tightening round her.

"Of course I do. It was always you," Cindy told him. Now her arms were round his neck, her cheek against his. "Peter—I just can't believe it."

"Neither can I," he said, and kissed her.