of your heart…A bit heavy-handed with the dried basil, weren’t you?’
‘I’ll have you know I only use fresh herbs when I cook and there’s exactly the right amount of basil in there,’ Anne said, infuriated by his casual criticism. ‘I’ve made that sauce hundreds of times and no one’s ever com-plained before…’
‘Perhaps country palates aren’t as discriminating as city-bred ones—’
Anne said a rude word, then blushed when his eyebrows rose.
‘What makes you such an expert anyway?’ she said defensively.
‘I was taught classic cuisine by an Italian chef.’
Anne resisted the urge to snatch back her modest offering. ‘You took a cooking course?’
‘Not as such. Maria gave me lessons purely out of the goodness of her heart.’
Irony threaded the innocent statement and the wicked glint of anticipation in his black eyes warned Anne not to make the obvious mistake of enquiring further into Maria’s identity. She had a feeling that he would enjoy embarrassing her by telling her that it was not only as a chef that the woman had excelled.
‘Naturally you don’t have to eat it if it’s not up to your impeccable standard,’ she said stiffly.
‘No doubt I’ll manage to choke it down.’
She felt a very strong desire to empty the sauce over his supercilious head. The amount of best-quality beef mince that she had used in the sauce would have lasted her three meals.
‘Oh, please, don’t suffer on my account,’ she snapped.
‘I won’t,’ he assured her smoothly, and there was a small silence.
She sighed. It would appear that she was going to have to grovel after all, since her bribery had patently failed to charm. She caught her plait over her shoulder and began fiddling with the end as the silence lengthened.
‘By the way, while you’re here…’
‘Yes?’ She brightened, her eyes shifting from gloomy hazel to hopeful blue at his apparent tentativeness. Perhaps he wanted to ask a small favour of her, thereby enabling her casually to suggest a trade!
‘Perhaps you’d like to use my telephone?’
‘Telephone?’ she echoed blankly, hoping her shock would be mistaken for polite surprise.
‘That is why you’re here, isn’t it?’ His voice was a strange mixture of gravel and silk.
‘Whatever makes you say that?’ she said bravely.
‘The way you keep sneaking glances at it. The phone box down the street has been vandalised, I noticed yesterday. And now here you are, oozing charm to a surly brute—’
‘I never called you a brute!’ she protested weakly. ‘A brute is unreasoning and unintelligent—’
‘You must think me both if you expected to fool me so easily, after making such a point of avoiding me like the plague since you moved in—’
‘Since you’ve so kindly and unexpectedly offered, I may as well take advantage of your good temper,’ interrupted Anne loftily. She marched over to the wall and lifted up the receiver. ‘You know, you’re a very mistrustful man,’ she said as she dialled the number. ‘If you remember it was your
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