of the children threw up all over me this morning—projectile.’ And he really wants to know this. ‘I usually keep some spare stuff here, but it’s always the way—the one time you need them they’re not here. The girls rallied around and lent me some clothes until mine could be cleaned. Though we do keep a box of spare clothes, for them, the children, obviously, just not for me.’ The hearty laugh she heard emerge from her lips sounded just as unbalanced as the babble that had preceded it.
Scarlet closed her eyes. If Roman O’Hagan hadn’t lost the will to live after that, she had. The room was filled with the sound of her own laboured breathing.
‘I would say that constitutes a bad day.’
The quiver of laughter she heard in his deep voice brought her head up. Hazel eyes shining with indignation through the lenses of her glasses, she glared at him. ‘It’s not funny.’
‘But not a tragedy either.’
‘Are you suggesting I can’t laugh at myself?’ she demanded indignantly. ‘Because, let me tell you, I have a great sense of humour…’ she met his wry eyes and added with a defensive sniff ‘…normally.’
She didn’t know why she was acting like this. She wasn’t a naturally aggressive person; her temper was even; she was one of life’s natural conciliators. There was just something about this man that brought out a latent combative streak in her nature.
‘Is there something I can do to help you…?’ she repeated.
He gestured towards the bear sitting in her chair. ‘I had left it in my car. My mother thought your son might like it.’
‘That’s very kind of her.’
‘Perhaps I could give it to him?’
She tried, but couldn’t come up with a legitimate reason to refuse this casual request. ‘He’s in the play room. I’ll show you the way,’ she offered, only partially managing to mask her extreme reluctance to do so.
Halfway through the door she backtracked and pulled her denim jacket off the hook behind the door. ‘It’s chilly,’ she told him, shrugging it on.
CHAPTER SIX
THE play room, normally a scene of organised chaos, was unusually peaceful when they entered. The younger children were sitting on the floor listening raptly to Angie tell a story.
Angie paused when they entered, her eyes widening a little when she identified the man beside Scarlet.
‘Children,’ she said, rising to her feet, ‘we have a visitor.’
Royalty could not have produced more awe in her voice, Scarlet thought cynically.
‘Roman O’Hagan.’ Roman, his smile all charm, extended his hand to Angie who accepted it with an eagerness that to Scarlet’s critical eye was too eager, fawning even, she concluded, viewing the older woman’s response to their visitor with a jaundiced eye.
‘Oh, I know who you are,’ Angie replied with a grin. ‘It was only yesterday we were looking at photos of you at that film première in Scarlet’s magazine.’
Thank you for that, Angie, now he thinks I’m a secret groupie. ‘Were we? I don’t remember.’
Roman angled her a speculative look and she glared back at him aggressively.
‘Sure you do, you put the magazine in your drawer, Scarlet.’
‘For the recipe section—I’m going to make the risotto.’ There was a layer of frost on Scarlet’s words, which Angie seemed totally oblivious to.
‘Isn’t that a bit ambitious for you? Scarlet can’t cook,’ she added in a confidential aside to Roman. ‘But she can eat for England and never put on an ounce. Me, I put on a pound if I so much as look at a grain of rice.’ She shook her head at the injustice of it.
‘There’s nothing wrong with womanly curves.’
‘That’s what my Bob says.’
Scarlet, who couldn’t believe that any woman could fall for such a corny line, stared at her friend—her old-enough-to-know-better friend—who was visibly preening.
Roman, head tilted to one side, considered the older woman, a smile playing about his fascinating mouth. ‘Is that a Donegal accent I’m hearing?’
Angie laughed. ‘Not many people here can tell the difference.’
Without any apparent effort, he slipped into a wildly attractive soft brogue. ‘I’m a Kerry man myself, on my da’s side anyhow.’
‘I have to tell you, Mr O’Hagan,’ Angie gushed, ‘those photos in Scarlet’s magazine didn’t do you justice.’ She turned to her friend for support. ‘Did they, Scarlet?’
‘Angie, I think it might be an idea if you got back to the story.’ Scarlet gave a significant nod towards the children. They were growing restive.
God bless restive children.
To her immense relief the distraction worked.
‘Timothy Jones, don’t pull Bethany’s hair!’ Angie exclaimed, wading in to calmly separate two small figures.
‘She pulled mine.’
‘Angie, if I could just see Sam for a minute.’
‘Sure thing, you go with your mum, Sam. Now, children, say goodbye to Mr O’Hagan and thank him for this lovely present. My, isn’t he just gorgeous?’ she exclaimed.
Scarlet was pretty certain she wasn’t talking about the stuffed toy; she certainly wasn’t looking at it.
Roman had a choice; he could tell the eager faces that the toy wasn’t for them or he could hand it over. He handed it over.
Scarlet hid a smile as she tucked Sam’s hand in her own.
‘Don’t worry, Sam knows about sharing, don’t you, sweetheart?’
Sam, who was looking with saucer-like eyes up at the tall man standing beside his mother, didn’t reply.
‘However, he doesn’t always like it,’ she admitted drily. ‘Say hello to Mr O’Hagan, Sam. He’s not normally so tongue-tied,’ she added, bending down to speak in her son’s ear. ‘Say hello to Mr O’Hagan, darling.’
‘Hello,’ Sam grunted, looking at his toes.
Scarlet gave an affectionate sigh and ruffled his dark hair before standing up.
‘Hello there, Sam.’
Scarlet happened to be looking at Roman O’Hagan at the moment Sam lifted his head—so nothing unusual there—but what she saw was unusual. Unusual and inexplicable. At least as far as she could see there was no immediately obvious reason why the colour would seep out of Roman’s face until his vibrant golden skin
