your loss,’ Caris said. ‘That is strange, though, as I have an American father and an English mother.’
‘So where were you born?’
‘A little market town called Spitewinter, on the Cambridgeshire border. My grandfather was the vicar there. I got my law degree at Cambridge University.’
‘What made you decide on law as a career?’
‘It was decided for me. It wasn’t something I wanted to do. You see, my father had hoped for a son to follow in hisfootsteps, but it wasn’t to be. My mother died when I was quite young.’
‘And your father never married again?’
Caris shook her head. ‘He’d adored my mother and he never really got over her death. He became morose and bitter.’
‘But you must have been a comfort to him.’
‘Quite the reverse, apparently. I was left in the care of various nannies and sent away to boarding school as soon as I was old enough to go. But, later on, when I proved to be reasonably bright, it became my father’s dearest wish that I should train to be a lawyer and join the firm.’
‘Why did you choose to go to Cambridge?’
‘Once again, the decision was made for me. Though my father is American born and bred, his family, as well as my mother’s, were originally from Cambridgeshire.’
‘How did they end up in the States?’
‘In the early eighteen-hundreds one of our ancestors emigrated and settled in New Jersey, but he sent his eldest son back to England to finish his education at Cambridge. Since then it’s become a kind of family tradition that in each generation the eldest son of the eldest son should go there.
‘My father went. That’s where he met and fell in love with my mother. She was a law student too, but in her second year she was forced to leave when she became pregnant. They got married as soon as they knew, and I was born at my grandparents’ house in Spitewinter.
‘Shortly afterwards, my father graduated and took my mother and me back to the States with him. But it hadn’t been an easy birth—something had gone wrong—and she never fully recovered. After she died, he could scarcely bear to look at me. It was almost as if he blamed me for her death.’
‘I see,’ Zander said slowly. ‘But, now you’ve taken the place of the son he never had, presumably you’ve grown closer?’
Caris shook her head regretfully. ‘I’m afraid you could never call the relationship I have with my father close.’
‘But you get on okay with him as a rule?’
‘Reasonably well, while I’m willing to be a dutiful daughter and not cross him.’
Zander frowned. ‘I find it difficult to believe he’s not proud of you.’
‘Perhaps he is, a little. But I’ve still got a long way to go to get where he wants me to be.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘It’s his dream that one day I’ll become a top-class barrister.’
‘Really?’
‘Don’t sound so surprised.’
‘I wouldn’t have figured you as a barrister.’
‘You don’t think I have the brains?’
‘Such a thought never entered my head. It’s just that I’ve always considered a top-class barrister must have a certain hardness, the ability to remain detached, uninvolved emotionally.
‘I can easily believe you’re level-headed and clever but, though I still don’t know you well, I have a gut feeling that you’re too tender-hearted to make it a comfortable profession.’
‘Now should I be flattered or insulted?’ she wondered aloud.
He laughed. ‘Please, take it as a compliment.’
At that moment their first course arrived. It proved to be a very tasty lobster bisque, and apart from an occasional remark they fell silent as they did justice to it.
It was followed by a tender steak served with a delicious cheureuil sauce, and they ended with a fruit and cream cheesecake that was light as a dream. As soon as their plates had been whisked away, the attentive waiter brought coffee, chocolates and a small trolley holding a selection of liqueurs.
‘Which would you prefer?’ Zander asked. ‘Brandy? Cointreau? Benedictine?’
‘I like Benedictine,’ Caris admitted. ‘But as I’ve already had at least two glasses of champagne I’m not sure if it would be wise.’
‘Well, as you won’t be driving, I can’t see the harm. And it may help you get a good night’s sleep in spite of the ankle.’
Taking that as a yes, the waiter poured a generous amount of Benedictine into one of the glasses. Then with the bottle poised he enquired, ‘And for you, sir?’
Zander shook his head. ‘Nothing for me, thanks.’
When the waiter had departed, with no need for small talk they sipped their coffee in companionable silence, looking out over the dusky garden.
A warm evening breeze drifted by, carrying with it the fragrance of roses, lavender and the haunting scent of rosemary.
With a sigh, Caris turned to her host and said, ‘That was the best meal I can ever remember having.’
In the flickering candlelight, Zander smiled at her. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it.’
He had good teeth—nicely shaped, gleaming white and healthy—and his mouth was beautiful, she thought, the top lip ascetic, the fuller lower lip more sensuous.
She was still staring, caught by the sexiness of it, when he added approvingly, ‘It’s a pleasure to have dinner with a woman who appreciates good food and doesn’t want to chatter all through the meal.’
Floating on cloud nine, happy that he seemed to like her company and hadn’t found her silence dull, Caris glowed.
She already knew that she would always remember this lovely, romantic evening. An evening she never wanted to end.
But her father was a hard taskmaster; for the past few weeks, needing to get things done before her vacation, she had worked far into the night most nights and slept badly in consequence.
Now tiredness was starting to catch up with her, made even more soporific by too much alcohol; she found herself having to stifle a yawn.
Zander noticed at once. ‘About ready to go?’ he queried. ‘It’s getting late and you look tired.’
‘Yes, I’m ready.’ She managed a smile.
But after such a wonderful evening to return to her lonely apartment with its empty fridge and stripped bed seemed like a
