to compensate.’
‘OK,’ she said casually, and forced herself take the stairs without a backward glance.
Con was full of admiration when she heard that Rose was neither turning up at the Saturday rugby game, nor going to the pub later on.
‘Good move. Fabia’s meeting Hargreaves at the Sceptre after the match, but I’ll go to the flicks with you instead, Rose,’ she added nobly.
‘In the afternoon, if you like. The Cameo’s showing one of those French films I’m supposed to like, so I’d better see it to impress Sinclair. But in the evening you have fun in the pub with Fabia and the others, as usual. I shall stay here and watch TV. Or even do some work.’ Rose grinned, her eyes dancing.
‘Clever little bunny! You don’t need teacher any more.’
‘I’m grateful for all the help I can get, but I do have the odd idea of my own, Con. Sinclair let slip that he noticed me at the match, and he definitely saw me at the pub, so this week I shall be missing from both. But I need you and Fabia and the rest there in force to make my absence marked. And a detailed report when you get back.’
During Saturday evening, while the comings and goings outside early on made it difficult to concentrate on a Shakespeare essay, Rose was almost sorry she’d had the self-control to stay behind while the others went out. But, quite apart from wanting Sinclair to note her absence, secretly Rose had worried that he might do no more than give her a casual wave anyway, if she’d turned up at the Sceptre. And no way was she willing to risk that.
‘Sinclair was there, right enough,’ said Con breathlessly, the moment she came through the door with Fabia. ‘Flushed with victory, after his usual star turn on the rugby pitch. He saw us arrive, and craned his neck to see if you were with us. Then afterwards he kept glancing over to our table to see if you’d put in a late appearance. It’s working, it’s working!’ She seized Rose’s hands and yanked her off the bed, whirling her round like a dervish until they collapsed in a heap with Fabia, laughing their heads off.
‘What are you two on?’ demanded Rose, giggling helplessly.
‘Adrenaline,’ gurgled Fabia, and eyed her with envy. ‘Damn. I wish I’d drawn Sinclair’s name out of the hat myself now.’
Con threw back her head with a yelp of laughter. ‘Come on, Fabe, can you honestly see yourself pounding round the track at dawn?’
Fabia joined in the laughter good-naturedly. ‘Not a chance. No man is worth that kind of effort.’
‘I rather enjoy the running now,’ confessed Rose. ‘It gives a terrific buzz.’
‘And ruins the mascara!’
‘Never wear any.’
Con patted her hand. ‘You don’t need it, anyway. Is Sinclair still treating you like a kid, by the way?’
Rose thought it over. ‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘I don’t think he is.’
‘I bet he’s wondering where you are tonight, and who with,’ said Fabia with relish. ‘He’d never believe the truth.’
‘He’s about the only one who might,’ said Con. ‘Sinclair’s got tunnel vision when it comes to the study bit, according to our faithful researchers. Will and Joe give off gamma rays of hero-worship whenever his name is mentioned.’
Rose felt a sharp twinge of conscience. ‘I just hope he never finds out what we’re up to.’
‘He won’t. Neither of them knows him well enough for intimate little chats. Besides, we have enough relevant information by now.’ Con ticked off her fingers. ‘Sinclair comes from somewhere near Edinburgh, lives in digs here in the town, likes foreign films and excels at almost every sport—as if we didn’t know—but apparently he likes fishing, too, and holidays on Skye, and, of course, ambition is his middle name. There.’
‘When did you find all this out?’ demanded Rose.
‘I had to be dangerously sweet to Hargreaves on the way home from the pub to wheedle the home background out of him.’ Fabia batted her eyelashes. ‘I stopped short of surrendering my virtue, but only just.’
‘Good,’ said Con approvingly. ‘Keep him on the boil in case we need his help again. And don’t even try to look noble—you know perfectly well you fancy him.’
‘A good thing I do in the circumstances!’ Fabia pulled a face. ‘Though he’s now convinced I’ve got a crush on our hero. Not that it matters. Will told me tonight I don’t stand a chance in that direction, because Sinclair, I quote, “has no time to spare for girls”.’
‘Except at dawn’s early light for Rose,’ said Con, laughing.
CHAPTER THREE
NEXT morning Rose woke before the alarm went off, deeply depressed to find rain streaming down her window. Moving quietly to avoid disturbing the others, she got into her running gear, collected a yellow slicker from the hook behind the door, picked up her bag with the change of clothes, then shut herself in the bathroom for the rest of her preparations. She hurried out eventually into rain so heavy she was sure Sinclair wouldn’t bother to turn up. But when she got to the stadium he was there before her, tall and faintly menacing in hooded black until his teeth showed white in the smile she was beginning to know so well.
‘Hi. I didn’t think you’d come.’
‘I had my doubts,’ she admitted, smiling cheerfully in response. She eyed the water-covered track with apprehension. ‘Can we run on that?’
‘I vote we don’t in this weather.’ He took her bag. ‘I’ve got a suggestion.’
‘Bacon sandwiches with no run for starters?’ she said hopefully.
‘Something like that. But there’s a problem. The café doesn’t open this early on Sundays.’
‘Oh. Never mind,’ said Rose, swallowing her disappointment. ‘Some other time, then.’
‘I live in digs in the town,’ he said quickly, the faint trace of Scots in his accent more pronounced. ‘And I make a great bacon sandwich. My landlady’s away this weekend, babysitting, but she gives me the run of her kitchen.’
‘Does she do that for all her boarders?’
‘I’m her one and only.’ His expression was hard to make out in the gloom. ‘Will you join me for breakfast, Rose?’
Excitement swept through her like a tidal wave. ‘Yes, I will. Thank you.’
He smiled. ‘Come on, then, let’s make a run for it. We’ve got a way to go before you get anything to eat.’
‘And I thought I was let off for today!’
By the time they reached a crescent of solid Edwardian houses they were drenched. Sinclair unlocked the door of a house halfway along and hurried her into a mosaic-tiled hall, switched on lights and yanked off her dripping slicker.
‘Take your shoes off,’ he ordered, ‘then go straight
