some general background would be fine,’ Zanna declared airily, and untruthfully. And someone who knew a child—a little girl called Susan. Someone to fill in some of the aching blanks in her own childhood.
The tempo of the music changed, became slower, more dreamy.
‘This is our waltz.’ Jake held out a hand, inviting her to join him on the dance floor. Zanna hung back, shaking her head, aware, suddenly, that her pulses had begun to thud erratically.
‘I really don’t dance.’
‘Didn’t you have lessons at your exclusive boarding school?’ he drawled.
‘Well—yes,’ she conceded reluctantly. ‘But that was a long time ago.’
‘Then it’s time your memory was jogged.’ She was drawn firmly and relentlessly into his arms. ‘I lead—you follow.’
Which wasn’t a situation she was used to, as he was probably well aware, she thought, gritting her teeth. For the first few moments she felt totally awkward, her feet everywhere, her body stiff and unyielding in his embrace. But gradually she found herself responding to the rhythm of the music, as well as to her partner’s unspoken signals, as he guided her round the crowded floor.
As the final chords sounded she said stiltedly, ‘Thank you, I enjoyed that.’
‘All you need is more practice.’
‘I don’t think I know any dance teachers.’
‘Not at waltzing, Susie,’ he said quietly. ‘At living.’
There was a brief, startled pause, then she said thickly, ‘You have a hell of a nerve.’
‘Famous for it,’ he agreed, without any visible signs of remorse.
‘Damn you—I have a very good life.’
‘Crammed with all kinds of goodies, I have no doubt,’ Jake said expressionlessly. ‘But that isn’t what I mean.’
Zanna lifted her chin, giving him a look that had originated well north of the Arctic Circle.
She said, coolly and precisely, ‘You may be well-versed in the inner workings of motor vehicles—although that has still to be proved—Mr—er...’
‘Jones,’ he supplied cordially. ‘As in Alias Smith and...’
Zanna bit her lip hard. That was not the name he’d given previously, she thought thunderously, but it seemed wiser, under the circumstances, to ignore it rather than call the matter into question.
‘But I suggest you lay off the human psychology,’ she went on, raising her voice a semitone. ‘At that you’re a total amateur.’
‘As I imagine you are yourself, Susie. At least at the things that matter.’ He gave her an edged grin. ‘Now let’s go and get some drinks.’
‘No, thanks,’ Zanna refused curtly. ‘I think I’d rather go back to the Black Bull.’
He had the audacity to laugh. ‘Don’t sulk.’ And, as her lips parted in furious negation, he added, ‘And don’t fib either. Just think of what Reverend Mother would have said.’
‘How did you know I went to a convent?’ she demanded suspiciously.
His smile widened. ‘Call it a lucky guess.’ He paused. ‘Besides, if you run away now you could miss out on a guided tour of Church House. Isn’t that worth enduring my company for a little while longer?’
He took her hand in his and led her round the edge of the floor to a room at the rear of the hall where the bar had been set up.
Bill Sharman was burly, with a beard and an infectious laugh.
‘Now then, Jake,’ he said jovially, giving Zanna an appraising look. ‘What can I get you both?’
‘A cold beer, please.’ Jake turned a questioning eye on Zanna. ‘The same for you, Susie?’
‘I don’t drink beer.’ Nor did it seem politic to drink any more alcohol when she needed to keep her wits about her. Glancing round, she spotted with relief several large glass bowls, filled with some innocuous-looking ruby liquid and awash with sliced apples, pears and oranges, standing on a side-table. ‘But I’ll try the fruit cup,’ she added, ladling some into a glass.
‘A good choice,’ Bill Sharman said cheerfully. ‘Trudy’s special brew. No dance here would be complete without it.’ He paused. ‘My wife tells me you’re spending the night with us.’
‘Yes, it wasn’t exactly a planned visit, but my car broke down and it’s taking Jake longer to fix it than I’d hoped.’
There was an odd silence, then Bill said, ‘Ah, you’ll be old friends, then?’
To her surprise, she found herself flushing. ‘Not really. I...’
‘Actually, we only met this afternoon when she walked into the garage.’ Jake broke smoothly into her flustered words. ‘And as she was at a loose end tonight I invited her here.’
‘Splendid,’ Bill approved, almost too heartily. ‘Great stuff. Have a wonderful evening.’
‘Thank you.’ She smiled back at him. ‘And the fruit cup is delicious.’
It was, too, the flavours of the fruit mingling coolly and fragrantly with a hint of spice. Cinnamon? she wondered as she sipped again. And nutmeg, perhaps? It was difficult to tell, she decided, downing some more in the interests of scientific research.
Jake took the glass from her hand and placed it with his own on a convenient window-ledge.
‘Come and dance,’ he invited softly.
This time it was a slow foxtrot, and Zanna was astonished to find how quickly she picked up the steps. She was almost sorry when the tempo changed completely to a rollicking Gay Gordons, a progressive version, where she found herself being whirled round by a succession of different partners, leaving her laughing and breathless as the music ended with a triumphant flourish.
She looked instinctively to see where Jake was and saw him standing at the side of the dance floor, talking to a pretty redhead who was openly and unashamedly devouring him with her eyes.
Which was fine by her, thought Zanna, swallowing the remains of her fruit cup and starting back to the bar in search of a refill. Of course it was. Jake belonged to Emplesham, after all. He had a life here which would continue long after she was gone and forgotten.
A strange pang of something like regret assailed her at this thought, and was instantly suppressed.
Because she had a life too. A very different life from those led in this backwater, she told herself robustly. A life where she was needed—where she mattered.
She pinned on a resolute smile for Bill Sharman. ‘Dancing’s thirsty work,’ she said, plying the ladle.
‘Always was,’ he agreed, raising one eyebrow. ‘Take it easy if you’re
