declare that little rabbit hutch a write-off.’
‘Now, look—’
‘So why don’t I just accept all the blame and pay for your repairs and mine?’
His sudden capitulation cut the ground out from under her. Her indignation died.
‘You’d—do that?’
‘Yes, despite my disgraceful chauffeur and my reprehensible Rolls, I have some human qualities after all.’
‘Thank you,’ she said meekly.
A middle-aged man had approached and was watching the scene. The other man turned to him.
‘You’ve landed me in it, Harry. What were you thinking of to park like this?’
‘Sorry, guv, but the bloke on the other side—he’s gone now—was taking up half our space, so I thought it wouldn’t matter if— Oh, my Gawd!’ He’d seen the damage.
‘Never mind. Just drive this lady’s—er—car to my usual garage and tell them to do what’s needed. Then come back here, take the Rolls—dents and all—and drive it to the garage.’
‘How do I get in?’ Harry demanded.
‘Through the back,’ Gina said through gritted teeth.
He squeezed into the little car and eased it gingerly out, only just managing not to graze the Rolls again. The man cast Gina a speaking look but maintained a tactful silence.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said awkwardly.
‘It’s not your day, is it? Where can we sit down and swap details in comfort?’
‘There’s a little place over there.’
He looked wildly out of place in Bob’s Café, a cramped greasy spoon that catered for people with little money and less time. He must have been a good six foot two, with long legs, broad shoulders and a set to his head that suggested authority. His suit was pure Savile Row, as befitted a man with a Rolls, but his air of confidence was his own.
She cast a disparaging glance down at her own clothes. Her grey business suit was neat and appropriate to her job, but it had been the least expensive in the store. She kept it varied with the clever use of scarves and jewellery, but this man looked as though his normal companions wore haute couture.
She tried to remind herself that he was the villain of the piece, but that was hard when he’d offered to pay all the bills.
It was lunchtime and the place was just filling up, but he found them a window table. He was the sort of man, Gina realised, who would always be able to find a window table in a crowded place.
‘Let me buy you a coffee,’ she suggested. ‘It’s the least I can do.’
‘Forget it. I’d rather heap coals of fire on your head.’ He studied the menu. ‘I’m hungry and I don’t like to eat alone. Choose something.’
‘Yes, sir.’
He grimaced. ‘Sorry. It’s my way. I’m used to giving orders, and it’s a hard habit to break.’
His voice was deep and resonant, making her realise that most voices were flat.
She made her choice and he hailed a waitress without trouble. When he’d given the order he said, ‘My name’s Carson Page.’
‘And mine is Gina Tennison. I’m really grateful to you, Mr Page. You were right about my steering. And it shouldn’t have been like that because I’ve just had the car repaired—’
‘You should sue the garage. Get yourself a good lawyer.’
‘Actually, I am a lawyer.’
‘Good grief!’
‘Well, it’s hard to be a convincing lawyer in a garage full of male mechanics,’ she said defensively. ‘It doesn’t matter how many legal qualifications you have, they still do what they like because they think you’re just a silly woman who knows nothing about cars.’
He didn’t answer, but his lips twitched.
‘Go on, say it,’ she challenged.
‘Do I need to?’
She broke into laughter, and he joined her. Laughing transformed him, softening the harsh lines of his face. But it vanished quickly. It was almost as though cheerfulness made him uneasy, and he needed to protect himself against it.
In repose, his face was full of tension. His eyes were dark and shadowed, and there were lines of strain around his mouth. This was a man who lived on his nerves, she realised, and she had a sudden feeling those nerves were at breaking point.
It was hard to guess his age. Somewhere in the thirties was as close as she could get. He had a lean body that moved easily, suggesting youth. But he carried an air of gravity as though life had piled cares on to him. It made his brief smile an unexpected pleasure.
‘So you’re a lawyer?’ he said. ‘Where do you work? Around here?’
‘Yes, I’m with Renshaw Baines.’
‘Renshaw Baines? I’m one of their clients. At least, I shall be after a meeting this afternoon.’
‘Oh, heavens, I’ve offended a client!’
‘That’s a little unfair when I’ve been at pains not to be offended.’
‘But I scratched your Rolls,’ she said, aghast.
‘Well, I won’t tell anyone if you don’t. Anyway, you can make up for it by putting me in the picture about Philip Hale, who’s going to handle my affairs. I’ve never met him before. Describe him.’
‘Philip Hale,’ she echoed carefully. ‘Well, he’s the most recent partner—everyone says he’s brilliant—you couldn’t have a better man—’
‘You really do dislike him, don’t you?’ he asked, easily reading between the lines.
She gave up. ‘Yes—no—it’s more that he dislikes me—disapproves of me. He thinks I’m a lightweight, and he didn’t want to employ me. Mr Page, I’m really not the person you should ask.’
He smiled again, becoming delightful for a moment. ‘I wish you could see your face this minute. All right. I’ll spare you. Why does he think you’re a lightweight?’
‘By his standards, I suppose I am. But he can’t fault my paperwork. I’ve done jobs for him that even he had to admit were up to scratch.’
‘Paperwork? No dramatic courtroom appearances?’
‘No, thank you,’ she said hastily. ‘I’m quite happy beavering away in the background.’
‘Isn’t that a bit dull for a young woman?’
‘Not
