attraction because a famous eighteenth-century poet had been born here, whose house was on the pilgrimage map, particularly for Americans since his son had emigrated there after his death. Silverburn was also a friendly little town, with a strong sense of identity. The local population of the town was small enough to have the necessary community spirit; people grew up here and stayed, hardly ever moved away the way Kit had.
She felt lucky to have been born here; she was very happy with her life, and yet suddenly she wondered if she was going to bore him, if he was going to find her dull compared with other women that he must have known in all those other places in which he had lived.
Curious, she asked him, ‘What job do you do, Joe? Why have you lived in so many different countries?’
‘I’ve been a photographer for years, working on an international magazine, and freelancing of late. Now I’m writing my autobiography; it will be quite short, I think, because I’m not much good with words; it will just be a commentary to go with a collection of my best pictures.’
‘It sounds fascinating. Will I have seen any of your work?’
He shrugged. ‘Maybe. That’s enough about mewhat about you? You forgot to say if you’re free.’
She half wished she could say yes, she was, but she shook her head, her mouth level and regretful.
‘No, not really.’
He grimaced. ‘Sorry to hear that. I suppose you remarried after the divorce?’
‘No, I’m not married! And you ask too many questions!’ Suddenly angry, she began to walk away fast and he caught up with her.
‘Sorry if I upset you. Look, it isn’t really late! Come for a coffee across the street. Please.’
Kit hesitated, then a little reluctantly shook her head. ‘Sorry. I must get home.’
‘To a man?’
She looked all the way up at him, green eyes wide, startled and laughing. ‘You do believe in being direct, don’t you?’
‘No time to be anything else once you’re over forty!’
She laughed again. ‘True. No, I don’t live with anyone.’ As she heard herself say it she also heard an echo deep inside her—a sadness, a regret. She lived alone and she hated it more every day. She was lonely and she ached to have a real home again, someone to come home to, someone who cared whether she came home or not. It was dreary going back to a dark, empty flat and going to bed alone.
‘Then if there’s nobody waiting up for you, come and have a coffee,’ said Joe firmly, pushing his hand between her arm and her body and urging her across the street to where a new, modern coffee-bar was brightly lit and full of young people talking and laughing and drinking coffee.
Kit lagged behind, staring at all those intent, alive young faces and feeling out of it, old, left behind. ‘I really shouldn’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t know a thing about you.’
‘You know a lot about me,’ he argued. ‘You know my name, how old I am, that I’m a lonely stranger here, and that I love Greta Garbo. And anyway, what on earth could I do to you in a coffee-bar full of other people?’
Kit was very tempted. But it would be reckless to accept—whatever he said, she knew very little about him.
Of course, she found him attractive. He had a powerful, firm body under his clothes—you could tell that just by the way he walked—and his eyes had a naughty twinkle, like a little boy’s. He obviously liked life, and she liked the way he dressed too—casually but with style, in good brown checked tweeds, a cream shirt, no tie, with a bright red silky scarf hanging round his neck inside his open camelhair winter coat. And he had such a charming smile.
But her small-town mind wouldn’t let her take the risk easily. How did she even know that Joe Ingram was really his name, or that he wasn’t married with three point five children? Yet she wanted to go on talking to him; she was enjoying his company and she was reluctant to say goodbye; she couldn’t deny it.
What can he do to you in a coffee-bar? she asked herself impatiently. Don’t be such an idiot.
‘So long as you let me pay for my own coffee,’ she finally said, and he grinned at her in amusement.
‘The independent type! Well, that’s fine by me. I’m certainly not going to argue.’
As they walked across the road she looked sideways at him, measuring his height beside her, a little daunted by it, and wondering if his overcoat was cashmere—nothing else looked that soft and fine, did it? The tweed suit was well-worn and a little shabby, yet it must have cost quite a bit when it was new.
‘Do you actually live in Silverburn?’ she asked him, and he nodded, glancing down at her.
‘I’ve just moved into a flat in Townwall Street.’
She stiffened and gave him another startled look as he held the door of the coffee-bar open for her. ‘Really? That’s where I live—I’ve got a flat on the first floor of the big new apartment block right next to the entrance to the new shopping centre.’
He halted, staring down at her. ‘Snap! My flat is on the top floor—number fourteen. What an amazing coincidence.’ His blue eyes were almost dark in the brighter lights.
Kit felt quite odd about it. She didn’t believe in fate but it was a very big coincidence that they should have run into each other in a cinema like that. Or was it? Had he seen her going in or out of the building? Had he followed her to the cinema tonight? Or recognised her in the cinema and deliberately picked her up like that?
She had thought he looked familiar, she recalled. She must have seen him without really noticing him. It hadn’t just been that fleeting, fugitive resemblance to Clark Gable that had struck her.
If he had told her he lived in the same block of flats she probably wouldn’t have agreed to have coffee with him; she would have suspected his motives. But she couldn’t get out of it now.
They found a small table right in the corner and sat down. The noise was deafening; a jukebox was playing near the bar and the other customers yelled at each other over the deep beat of rock music.
A young waitress chewing gum came over, pad in one hand, pencil in the other, and stared at them indifferently.
‘Yes?’
‘Two coffees, please,’ Joe said, smiling at her.
‘Anything else?’ She didn’t smile back, just chewed her gum.
‘No, thank you.’
The girl walked away. Joe gave Kit a wry grin. ‘Maybe we should have gone to the pub instead. It might not have been so noisy.’
‘Noisier tonight,’ Kit assured him. ‘There’s a darts match on; they’re playing their rival pub; it could get very nasty.’
‘You drink there?’ He looked surprised.
‘I
