they were settled in the study, Patrick went on. ‘So now, dear reader, we come to the really interesting bit. After Alicia’s desertion I worked twice as hard, but the playing no longer appealed. So in the long winter evenings I began to write a book—a novel about a hot-shot, materialistic lawyer and the various cases, lost and won, that bring him, with help from the woman he loves, to a final, shattering epiphany. The realisation that there’s more to life than possessions. Corny, I know. But it worked. It comes out here next month, and it’s already been auctioned off in the States. And there’s a pretty good chance of film rights.’
‘In that case,’ said Hester, with a smile, ‘you should soon be able to run to some furniture for this place.’
‘From Conway’s, of course?’ he said swiftly.
Hester coloured to the roots of her hair, angry because she felt so hurt. She looked at her watch and got up. ‘It’s late. I must go.’
Patrick jumped to his feet and caught her hands. ‘I was joking, Hester. Please stay.’
She shook her head, feeling suddenly tired. ‘I won’t, thank you. I’m entertaining a guest for Sunday lunch tomorrow. I’ll need an early start.’
Ignoring her attempts to withdraw them, Patrick kept hold of her hands. ‘Hester,’ he said urgently. ‘I never thought for a moment that you were drumming up trade. Damn,’ he added bitterly, ‘I’m not usually so maladroit.’
She stared down at their clasped hands, unwilling to indulge in a struggle she was unlikely to win. ‘Thank you for the meal,’ she said at last, and the grasp on her hands relaxed.
‘Any thanks involved are due to you, not me,’ he said quietly. ‘It was very good of you to drive out here with the desk.’
Hester looked up, meeting his frowning green gaze very directly. ‘I often make deliveries. Even on Saturday evenings. It’s all part of the Conway service. Now, I really must go.
Outside, the wild, tangled garden was bleached free of colour in a twilight scented with warm earth and new-mown grass.
Patrick breathed in deeply. ‘I would like to be your friend, Hester.’ His voice was crisp and incisive, almost startling in the stillness. ‘It seems a shame to let one ill-considered flippancy prevent that. Unless the idea of friendship with me is anathema to you, of course.’
It wasn’t in the slightest. And taking umbrage with a potential customer was a touch immature for a thirty-something widowed lady, thought Hester, recovering her sense of humour. She smiled at Patrick with sudden, deliberate warmth.
‘It’s not. I’m sorry. I was touchy.’ And, to prove she had recovered, her smile deepened. ‘But I’m not proud. Joking or not, if you do need any furniture you know where to come.’
‘I may take you up on that.’ His smile was just visible as a show of white in his sun-bronzed face. ‘Can’t I persuade you to tour the house again, give me advice about what I need?’
‘Could we leave that for another day—?’ She stopped, flushing.
‘Certainly—when?’ asked Patrick promptly. ‘Not tomorrow, I know. Is your lunch guest male or female?’
‘Male,’ said Hester, oddly flattered. ‘A regular arrangement. We alternate. Sometimes I cook lunch for him, sometimes he takes me out.’
‘Would he object if I did this?’ He bent suddenly and kissed her surprised mouth. ‘Which means I’ve really scuppered myself now,’ he said, stepping back. ‘So I may as well go the whole hog and admit that last night I was furious with myself for feeling attracted to another man’s wife—one who was playing around with Galbraith all night, to add to my joys.’
‘Oh, I see,’ she said in sudden comprehension. ‘That’s why you were eyeing me with such disapproval.’
‘I’m surprised you noticed. You kept your distance.’
‘I thought the pregnant lady with you was your wife. And I’d been on the bench when her sons were in court. Of course I kept away from you—both of you!’
‘Is Galbraith a close friend?’ he asked bluntly.
‘I wonder what you mean by close?’ she said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Tim’s just a friend. Like all my menfriends, he keeps to the rules.’
‘Whose rules?’
‘Mine.’
‘Tell me what they are and I’ll keep to the letter of your law, I promise. Though I admit to a dislike of the sound of “all”. Are there that many?’
‘Three, if you’re counting. One’s a widower, another’s recovering from a divorce and Tim harbours a much-publicised allergy to marriage.’
Patrick moved closer to peer down into her face. ‘If I want to be your friend do you expect me to be one of this crowd of yours?’
‘I don’t expect anything of you,’ she retorted. ‘Until yesterday I didn’t know you existed.’
He laughed suddenly. ‘How true. All right, let’s start again. If I stick to your rules like glue will you let me take you out to a proper dinner one night next week?’
She looked at him for a moment, then nodded. ‘Yes, thank you. I will.’
‘Then come back in and let me make you some more coffee. You can’t go home yet. It’s early.’
When she eyed him doubtfully Patrick grinned and held up his right hand. ‘I swear to behave like a monk, so come back inside. Please.’
It was late before Hester left to drive home, mainly because Patrick had kept his word and made no more attempts to touch her—while at the same time, in some unspoken way, managing to make it quite clear he would have liked to. It was flattering, and added zest and an underlying element of spice to their conversation. Patrick’s kiss had been sudden but not threatening, and while she’d felt no response to it she had a feeling that, if he’d persisted, she might have.
He was a very attractive man. Not handsome in a movie-star way, but his colouring, clever face and clipped, assured voice combined to form a very potent form of charm. Alone among the men she’d known since Richard, he touched a chord inside her. A matter of wavelength rather than physical chemistry. Even on such short acquaintance she felt very much in tune with him. And knew, without being told, that he felt the same towards her.
While they despatched a new pot of coffee Patrick talked about his London flat, loaned, for the time being, to house-hunting friends.
‘I had thought of transferring some of the furniture down here until I have time to decide what this house would like, but in the circumstances I had to leave everything there for my temporary tenants and content myself with the bare rudiments in my bucolic retreat,’ he said, looking relaxed and, to Hester, physically elegant in a way peculiarly his own—as if every part of him was put together with such precision he could move in any way he chose and never look awkward or ungraceful.
Very different from Richard.
‘Do you intend to keep your London flat?’
