flinging food over customers?’ Besides, she knew Eric Gallway and she knew that he was more than capable of doing his utmost to get what he would see as just revenge for his humiliation.
‘Resign, reds? And who will serve me my morning coffee and bagel?’
He was trying to be nice. In the midst of her misery, she realised that he had called her ‘reds’, a reference, she assumed, to her bright red hair, and the softly spoken intimacy was almost as powerfully unsettling as the prospect of her future without a job.
‘I’m going to pack up my things,’ she said glumly. ‘Thanks for being so understanding.’ She reached out to shake his hand, for some unknown reason, but instead of a shake, he casually linked his fingers through hers and squeezed her hand gently, then he reached for his glass of wine and sipped some, with his fingers still interlinked with hers. He rubbed his thumb idly against hers and she felt a curious sensation of prickling down the back of her neck. Then he released her.
‘I don’t suppose you’d like your meal replaced?’ she joked half-heartedly, and he raised his eyebrows, appreciating her attempt at humour.
Funny, during all their speculations about him, she had never noticed how strongly the curves of his mouth spoke of compassion and humour. Or maybe anyone would have seemed compassionate and humorous alongside Eric with his infernal vanity and monstrous self-absorption.
‘Strangely, I appear to have lost my appetite.’ He gave her a little half-smile.
‘Well.’ She heaved a sigh. ‘The halibut was very good. Trust me. Much better than the wretched steak.’
She walked the long walk back to the kitchens, and by the time she’d told Alfredo she was resigning, said her last goodbyes to everyone and cleared her desk of what belonged to her, her usual buoyancy was back with her.
She would find something else. She wasn’t fussy. Hadn’t she ended up enjoying Alfredo’s even though initially the early start had put her off and the hours were often longer than her contract demanded? She would find something else and she would enjoy it. And if she didn’t, then couldn’t she always head back up to Dublin?
True, it felt good to be away from the claustrophobia of having all her large family around her but if she did decide to go back to Ireland, she knew that she would settle back in without any real difficulty. And after all this time, they would have at least stopped oozing sympathy about her wrecked love life and making endless remarks about adulterous men and young, impressionable girls.
Things would work out. She had a sudden, wild memory of the man with his fingers entwined with hers and felt a little shiver of regret. One face lost to her for ever. For no reason whatsoever, the thought depressed her, and she was so busy trying to analyse the foolishness of her reaction that she didn’t notice him until he was standing in front of her. Towering over her, in fact. Shannon just manage to stop before she collided with his immovable force and it was only when her eyes actually trailed upwards that she recognised him and gave a little gasp of surprise. Mostly because he seemed to have materialised from the sheer power of the thoughts in her head.
‘How did it go?’
‘What are you doing here?’ She wanted to reach out and prod him to see if he was real.
‘Waiting for you, as a matter of fact.’
‘Waiting for me? Why would you be waiting for me?’ It wasn’t yet four-thirty, but the light was already beginning to fade and there was an unholy chill in the autumn air.
‘To make sure that you were all right.’
‘Of course I’m all right.’ She stuck her hands in her pockets and stared at his shoes. She hadn’t realised how big a man he was. Not just tall, but broad-shouldered and powerfully built. ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’ She raised her eyes to his and made fleeting contact.
‘Because, reds, you looked pretty shaken up back there in the restaurant.’
Shannon debated whether she should tell him to stop calling her ‘reds’ and decided, perversely, that she liked the nickname.
‘Did I?’ she said airily. ‘I thought I handled myself very well, actually. I mean, losing a job isn’t the end of the world, is it?’ Bills. Rent. Food. Not the end of the world but not far off.’
‘Look, it’s cold trying to hold a conversation out here. Why don’t you hop in my car. I want to talk to you.’
‘Hop in your car? I’m very sorry but I can’t do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I don’t know you. You could be anyone. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying you’re an axe-wielding maniac, but you could be for all I know.’
‘An axe-wielding maniac?’ he asked, bemused.
‘Or a fugitive from the law. Anyway, my mother told me never to accept lifts from strangers.’
‘I’m not a stranger! You’ve been serving me breakfast every morning just about for months! Nor am I a fugitive from the law. If I were a fugitive from the law, wouldn’t I be hiding out somewhere less conspicuous than a busy Italian restaurant in the middle of crowded Notting Hill? Your imagination is obviously as vivid as your temper, reds.’
‘And stop calling me reds.’ She’d decided she didn’t care for the appellation after all. It was insulting.
‘Then accompany me, please, for a short ride in my car which is just around the corner. I want to talk to you.’
‘Talk about what?’
‘Oh, good grief,’ he groaned. ‘Let me put it this way, it’ll be worth your while.’ He turned on his heel and began walking away, expecting her to follow him, and she did, clutching her coat around her and half running to keep up.
‘I don’t even know your name!’ she panted in his wake. ‘And where are you planning on taking me for this little talk that will be worth my while?’
He stopped abruptly and she cannoned into him. Instinctively he reached out and steadied her. ‘Kane Lindley,’ he said, ‘in answer to your first question. And a little coffee-bar two blocks away in answer to your last. We could walk but my time on the meter is about to run out so it’s as easy for us to take the car and I’ll find somewhere else to park.’
She realised that he was still holding her by her arms, and he must have realised that as well because he politely dropped his hands and waited for her to respond.
‘Kane Lindley…’
‘That’s right. Have you heard of me?’
‘Why should I have heard of you?’ Shannon asked, puzzled.
He said swiftly, ‘Absolutely no reason. I’m not a celebrity but I own Lindley publications and I’m now in charge of a television network.’ He zapped open his car with his remote after a short mental tussle. Shannon hurried over to the passenger side and slipped in, slamming the door against the stiff cold.
‘I haven’t heard of Lindley publications,’ she told him as soon as he was sitting next to her.
‘It doesn’t
