impatience. Her strong jaw jutted.
‘I hope this mascara’s waterproof,’ she muttered.
‘You OK?’
He would have reached out to cover her hand with his, but was saved from enacting what she would undoubtedly have considered a slimy gesture by the fact that she was using both hands to dab the napkin against her eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ she gasped.
‘Good gosh, don’t apologise!’
‘I came here with Mark once. They put us at this same table.’
Oh, lord, of course! It was Mark!
‘I was saddened to hear of his death, Maggie,’ he told her at once, his voice dropping. ‘I know Alison wrote to you. We would have come for the funeral, only she was so close to her due date, it wasn’t safe for her to travel so far.’
She nodded. ‘I knew that, Will. I’m fine. Just let me…’ She waved a hand vaguely, then rested it on the table as she gathered herself together. ‘He was ill for quite a while, and we both had a chance to get used to it. We laid up some good memories. Like fine wine, he said. He was a lot older than me—twenty-five years—so we always…took it in our stride…that I’d be the one left.’
‘But not so soon?’ Will suggested gently.
‘Not so soon,’ she agreed, looking up at last. Her eyes were pink-rimmed, but her mouth was steady again. Smooth and full-lipped, and no longer pinched. ‘We had a good marriage. Short, but good. He always said it would lay a good foundation for whatever came after, and so far that’s held true. I’m pretty content most of the time.’
He noticed she didn’t say ‘happy’. Then noticed that his hand was right where he’d resolved not to place it—on top of hers, stroking it gently with his fingertips.
She noticed it, too. Laughed. Apologised. Pulled it away. She looked…angry. She was good at that. A pair of dark, delicately arched brows descended until they formed a straight line. Her full lips tucked in at the corners. Her blue eyes clouded, and her strong jaw jutted again. He’d seen it all before, many times.
How come he never knew how to handle it? Never! Where was the easy, confident instinct he usually had with people? Why did he always burn to prove something to her? Normally, he didn’t consider his ego to be that fragile.
A tiny espresso cup filled with a creamy, pale green liquid arrived. Fennel bisque, the waiter told them—their complimentary appetiser. They hadn’t even ordered their meal yet, but it seemed that the tone of the evening was already set. Will grated a rough sigh between his teeth and saw a long, difficult two hours stretching ahead.
I’ll bide my time on this, he decided. I won’t cut to the chase right away, and tell her what I’m here for. We’ll just talk. Surely we can manage that!
From the pocket of her black linen trousers, Maggie felt her pager begin to vibrate against her thigh. She welcomed the interruption, and didn’t quite manage to hide the fact as she pulled the little instrument into view.
‘I’m on call,’ she said, her tone dropping into something that could only be described as officious. ‘I must call my service and deal with this. It could be important.’
‘Yeah, really?’ Will drawled at her across the table. He leaned back and twisted slightly in his chair, to rest one elbow on the seat-back. ‘Important? And you a doctor? I had no idea…’
She flushed and apologised. Again.
Felt like a fool as she managed to extricate herself from the table legs and went in search of a private spot where she could return the call. She’d condescended to him in a way that was ridiculous, considering the fact that he was a doctor himself. No wonder he’d called her on it, with that liquid, mocking tone and those raised brows.
They’d always, always dealt with each other like this. Never cutting each other any slack. Never giving an inch. Surely that should have changed after such a long interval? It was infuriating.
Sheltering in a little alcove beside a delicate still-life painting, she took out her cellphone and keyed in the number her answering service gave her. It was the father of the ten-month-old this time.
‘We’ve given her the medication,’ he said. ‘But her temperature’s still pretty high. She’s so dry and flushed.’
Again, Maggie asked some questions, elicited a description of the baby’s symptoms and wasn’t overly concerned. ‘Make sure she gets plenty of fluids,’ she said. ‘And don’t overdress her. Use a damp, tepid cloth to cool her head and her limbs.’
Many of her phone consults were like this, routine and quick to deal with, snatched moments that punctuated her personal time. She was back opposite Will at the table sooner than she’d have liked. Why hadn’t she taken some time to gather herself together? She might have drawn some tranquillity from that lovely little oil painting of fruit. Too late now…
They ordered, ate, drank. The meal was delicious and beautifully presented, the setting was gorgeous and their waiter attentive. Respecting her on-call status, she refused more than a half-glass of wine, but the evening itself was intoxicating enough. Will had never shown any doubt about how to keep a woman entertained.
Distantly, Maggie watched their conversation unfold as blue darkness spread over the mirror-still lake. It wasn’t going so badly now. It was nice. She forgot his promise to ‘explain’ about his lateness, the significant way he’d said, ‘We’ll talk.’ She stopped watching for chinks in his armour, opportunities to catch him out.
She decided that people did change and grow and mature after all. At last. With hard work. She wasn’t quite the same belligerent, awkward young woman she’d been ten or fifteen years ago, thank goodness. She didn’t have to curl herself into a ball like a porcupine, showing only her spines. She could handle Will Braggett now.
‘But you haven’t noticed that that’s exactly opposite to the statement you made five minutes ago!’ she said triumphantly to him, to cap what she considered to be a lively and satisfying exchange.
He smiled in a lazy way. ‘Know what, Maggie?’ he said. ‘I think you’re even more terrifying than you used to be.’
‘Terrifying…’
‘Do you ever give a man a break?’ He was still smiling, his eyes liquid and dark. He might have been flirting if he’d been with any other companion. But he wasn’t flirting with her, she was sure of that. ‘No, of course not!’ he answered himself. ‘Maggie Lawless, relentless defender of her own principles.’
Ouch! The sharp prick of a shattered illusion.
It was a dismissal far more than a compliment, and she recognised the fact at once. He didn’t deliver the line with a sneer, because charming Will Braggett never sneered. That sexy, kissable mouth wouldn’t have known how. But still his words had the power to make her falter in her tracks and turn right back into that prickly, belligerent porcupine after all.
‘Take it as an attack if you like,’ she said crisply. ‘You’re the one who seems to feel you were vulnerable.’
He shrugged, as if it was far too wearying, and too far beneath
