good point. In that case, let me reassure you as to my intentions, my status, and my propensities…
‘I have no designs either on your purse or your person; I’m not married, or even mildly involved with anyone; and I’ve never been known to grow horns and a tail, or turn into a homicidal maniac, without warning.
‘On the other hand, if you prefer a more positive approach, we’re both Anglo-American, and I do live in the same building. Which means I count as a neighbour…’
‘I’m not sure the latter is entirely reassuring,’ she teased. ‘I imagine even the Boston Strangler must have been somebody’s neighbour.’
He pretended to be aggrieved. ‘Of course, if you don’t like the look of me, just say so. I may go and throw myself in the Hudson, but you’ve no need to feel any guilt…’
They were both enjoying the exchange, and she laughed. ‘That’s nice to know. I don’t stand up too well to guilt.’
Studying her face, the clear, long-lashed almond eyes, the straight nose, the wide, generous mouth and softly rounded chin, he asked, ‘How well do you stand up to a spot of friendly persuasion?’
‘Not too well,’ she admitted.
‘Then, supposing I was to say it would make me very happy if you would come and share a pizza with me?’
‘I can feel myself weakening.’
‘Thank the Lord for that!’ he exclaimed fervently. ‘Now, suppose we go and dump the shopping before we both die of hunger? Which floor do you live on?’
‘The top floor at the back. I have a bedsit.’
‘Here, it’s classed as one room apartment,’ he told her with a grin, adding, as they turned to climb the stairs together. ‘I live on the top at the front, so we really are neighbours.’
‘It’s a wonder we haven’t met before,’ she marvelled.
He shook his head. ‘It’s a wonder we’ve met now. You said you’d only lived here a few days. I haven’t been here much longer myself. In this kind of building people can live next door to each other and never meet at all, unless they happen to keep the same hours.
‘Normally I wouldn’t be around at this time, but a client I was taking out to dinner called at the last minute to say he couldn’t make it.
‘Feeling at a loose end, I decided to come back and change into something casual before grabbing a bite to eat.’
Smiling at her, he added, ‘I’m very glad I did.’
The first few weeks of being in love—and she was madly, head-over-heels in love—had been the most wonderful weeks of her life.
She had discovered that Keir was everything she had ever wanted in a man, and more. As well as being exciting, and physically attractive, he proved to be good-tempered and intelligent, sensitive and compassionate, with a spiky sense of humour and a love of life that was infectious.
He was also a workaholic: at his Wall Street office most evenings until gone nine, and a good part of every weekend.
In spite of such long business hours, he managed to see her for a short time almost every day. Sometimes in the early mornings they walked in the small park nearby. Other times they had late-night coffee together, either in his apartment or hers.
On weekends, if he could spare the time, they shared a simple meal and a bottle of wine.
One weekend, when they’d planned to take a short trip upstate, he said regretfully, ‘I’m sorry, honey, but I can’t make it after all. I have commitments both Saturday and Sunday.’
Faced with yet another lonely weekend, she protested, ‘Why do you have to put in such long hours?’
He answered carefully, ‘The real estate and property development business is a very demanding one.’
‘But surely no one normally works every evening and weekends as well?’
‘A great deal of my business is done socially rather than over a desk, and prospective clients expect me to be available for them twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.’
Taking her hand, he gave it a squeeze. ‘It won’t always be like this, I promise you. But at the moment I have no choice.’
Sighing, she accepted the inevitable and, with her usual good sense, agreed, ‘Then, I’ll just have to make the best of it.’
The following Saturday morning, he appeared unexpectedly at her door. Sounding jubilant, he said, ‘You know I’ve been having talks with your boss?’
Sera nodded. He’d mentioned the fact to her and, one day, she’d actually caught a glimpse of him disappearing into Martin Rothwell’s office.
‘Well, Rothwell has finally agreed to provide the rest of the financial backing I need to go ahead with a big, new development on Broadway.
‘On the strength of that, I’ve decided to play hookey for once. Let’s go and have some fun!’ He seized her hand.
‘B-but I need to get changed, and do something with my hair,’ she stammered.
His eyes running over her grey and white striped button-through dress, her flat-heeled sandals, and the black, silky hair tumbling round her shoulders, he said, ‘What you’ve got on will do fine. And I like your hair loose.’
‘Where are we going?’ she asked as he swept her down the stairs like a prairie wind.
‘We’re taking the subway to Coney Island.’
Though somewhat run-down and a mere ghost of its former self, colourful Coney Island, with its amusement arcades and fairground rides, was still amazingly alive and vibrant.
To Sera’s unjaded palate, the simple seaside pleasures it offered, and the sight of so many people having fun, were all she could have asked.
Eating hot dogs and sharing a big bag of fries and a can of cola, she and Keir strolled along the boardwalk enjoying the sunshine, the music, the smells and the ambience.
Noticing her sparkling eyes, he asked, ‘Does this kind of thing take you back to your childhood?’
Sera shook her head. ‘It’s the first time I’ve ever seen anything quite like this,’ she admitted.
His level black brows drew together in a frown. ‘Tell me about yourself… Apart from the fact that you work for Rothwell, your mother comes from Boston, and you were brought up in England, I know very little about you.’
Never one for talking about herself, she said, a touch awkwardly, ‘There’s not much to know. I’ve led a very dull life.’
‘Then, tell me all the dull bits, and I’ll try not to yawn.’
‘I’m sure you won’t be interested.’
‘And I’m
