bursting with testosterone. Nevertheless there was something lethally attractive about his tall, loose-limbed body, and the wide, expressive mouth that knew so well how to kiss a girl senseless… She took a deep breath, made herself some coffee, then went out for a run in the park to burn off feelings roused by a few words on paper. Clever devil, she thought bitterly. No wonder his books sold.
Next morning Rosanna received a second letter from Ewen, telling her how he was getting on with his book and asking about the progress of hers. And once more he ended with a few pulse-quickening lines which left her shaken and restless, and in need of a longer run than usual before she could settle to her research. Afterwards she went round to the Claytons’ house and used Charlie’s machine to send Ewen a fax, telling him to stop writing to her. And to her surprise, and utterly savage disappointment, he did.
On Saturday, a week later, Rosanna went round to the flat in Bayswater to collect some clothes, and found Louise on her way out to spend the weekend with a new man. This was definitely the one, said Louise, starry-eyed, but Rosanna had heard that one before. Often. She laughed affectionately, wished Louise good luck, then went off to do some solitary window-shopping. After a visit to the cinema later on Rosanna finally went home, feeling thoroughly out of sorts. There had been no more letters from Ewen, and none from David, either. He rang her instead, to apologise for lack of time to write, and promised to come home for a holiday soon. And, to make matters worse, she missed Ewen’s brief, passionate notes far more than she missed David’s accounts of life in Boston.
On impulse Rosanna rang David’s Boston number, but a recorded message was her only reward. She left a brief greeting and rang off, feeling restless and lonely, resigned to a Saturday evening with only the television and a novel for company.
When the phone rang later she was in the kitchen, trying to whip up the enthusiasm to make herself something to eat. She brightened, and raced into the hall to answer it. ‘Hi, David!’
‘Sorry to disappoint you, Rosanna,’ said a deep, husky voice very different from David Norton’s. But just as recognisable.
‘Who is this?’ she said, after a pause.
His laugh raised the hairs down her spine. ‘Ewen. As you well know.’
‘Hello, Ewen. This is a surprise. How are you?’
‘All the better for talking to you, Rosanna. Though I didn’t expect to at this time on a Saturday night.’
‘Why not?’
‘I was sure you’d be out, socialising somewhere.’
‘Louise is otherwise engaged.’
‘And is she the only one you go out with?’
‘No. I have another friend, Maxine, but she’s on holiday.’
‘You mean that while the good doctor’s in the States you do without male company of any kind?’
‘Not necessarily. Sometimes I see old college friends. But no one’s around at the moment.’
‘In that case would he object if you had dinner with me?’
‘I have no idea. Besides, it’s me you should be asking, not David.’
‘I am asking you, Rosanna. Will you?’
Rosanna wanted very badly to say yes. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ she said at last.
‘Why not?’
‘You can ask that, after the letters you sent me?’
‘Were they so offensive?’
She was silent for a moment. ‘Not offensive, exactly. But you shouldn’t have written to me like that.’
‘I haven’t since you told me to stop.’
‘I know. Thank you.’
‘Something’s wrong, Rosanna,’ he persisted. ‘Tell me.’
‘You’ll laugh,’ she said, depressed.
‘From your tone it doesn’t seem likely!’ He paused. ‘Rosanna, all I’m asking is an evening spent together. My intentions are of the best. Or are you convinced my sole object is seduction?’
‘I hope I’m not so conceited,’ she retorted. ‘Why do you want to see me?’
‘I can tell something’s wrong. I want to know what it is.’
Rosanna sighed dispiritedly. ‘It’s nothing you can do anything about.’
‘Rosanna,’ said Ewen after a pause, ‘is it something to do with David?’
‘No. Nothing at all.’
‘I see. Or rather I don’t see.’ He paused. ‘Let’s discuss it over dinner. Though if you don’t want to talk about it I won’t press you. Afterwards I’ll deliver you to your door without even a peck on the cheek.’
Why not? she thought defiantly, avoiding her eyes in the mirror. She couldn’t stay home all the time. ‘Then thank you, I’ll come. It’s very kind of you.’
‘Not really. It’s the journalist in me, scenting a story.’
Ewen rang back later to confirm dinner at a favourite restaurant of his in Shepherd’s Bush, as long as they didn’t mind eating late. Rosanna, who hadn’t intended eating very much at all, assured him she didn’t mind a bit, but told him not to come for her. She would meet him at the restaurant around nine.
Which, she thought, running upstairs, gave her a couple of hours to make herself look as contemporary as possible. Her spirits high, Rosanna put on the sleeveless, low-cut black dress she kept for special occasions, added sheer black stockings, strappy black suede shoes, and took a long time over her face. She brushed her waving dark hair back as severely as possible, and secured it at the nape of her neck with a tortoiseshell clasp, then, with a touch of defiance, pinned the gold rose to the shoulder of her dress. The result, she thought, satisfied, was a far cry from young Rose Norman.
Ewen was waiting when she arrived at the restaurant. He wore a fawn linen suit and his face looked tired under the thick black hair, dark smudges of fatigue under his eyes. But when he caught sight of her the eyes lit up, and Rosanna’s heart gave a sudden, unsettling thump as he came towards her, hand outstretched.
‘Rosanna, you look ravishing!’ He seated her in a corner of the crowded bar, his eyes moving over her with unconcealed pleasure. ‘That’s the famous rose, of course, but otherwise thoroughly modern Rosanna,’ he said with a grin, and she smiled back wryly. He really was a clever devil.
‘Just so there’s no confusion,’ she said lightly, and agreed to champagne when he told her he was celebrating the racing start he’d made on his book.
‘How about you?’ he asked.
‘I’m very well,’ she assured him.
‘I can see that.’ The look in his eyes brought such heat to her face, Rosanna gave fervent, secret thanks for the naturally matt complexion which disguised it. ‘What shall
