arm. ‘We’ll go and face this particular pirate together.’ It was the least she could do after not being completely honest with this woman from the outset.
Dora was sure Griffin was well aware of the two women approaching him, but he continued to maintain his interest in the shelves in front of him.
‘Mr Sinclair?’ Dora tilted her head questioningly in front of him. ‘This lady is a fan of yours, and would like to say hello.’
Was it her imagination or did he raise mocking brows in her direction before placing his pile of books down on the table beside him and turning the warmth of his charm on to his fan?
No, Dora decided wryly as she walked away and left the two of them to their conversation—gushing on the woman’s part, huskily warm on Griffin’s—she hadn’t imagined that mockery at all. She didn’t doubt for a minute that Griffin knew damn well that until the woman had told her so a few minutes ago she had had no knowledge that Griffin did anything to merit having fans! He was well aware of the fact that the Baxter household did not possess a television, because of her father’s aversion to them—and she would hardly have been out and purchased one in the ten days since his death.
Although, she acknowledged with a frown, just the sight and sound of one might have been preferable to the silence that had fallen over the house in the last week. Not that her father had been a great conversationalist; he’d usually been busy either reading one of his beloved books or restoring one, a hobby that had become a profession over the last few years. But just knowing the house was empty, apart from herself, had made the silence seem all the more oppressive…
‘—so kind of you, Mr Sinclair.’
Dora was brought back to an awareness of her surroundings by the elderly woman’s gushing thanks.
‘I’ll treasure it always!’ she added breathlessly.
‘It’ was a book that Griffin had insisted on buying for the other woman, gallantly opening the door for her too, a couple of minutes later, so that she could leave.
‘Take that look off your face, Izzy Baxter,’ Griffin drawled as he strolled back to where she sat behind the till. ‘And don’t say, What look?’ He sat down on the edge of the desk. ‘I know you too well to be in the least fooled by the innocent calm of your grey eyes!’
A shutter instantly came down over those ‘calm grey eyes’. ‘The truth of the matter is, Griffin,’ she told him coolly, ‘you don’t know me at all!’
‘I beg to differ—Izzy.’ He raised one blond brow pointedly. ‘But enough of that,’ he dismissed lightly as she continued to look at him coldly. ‘I bet that’s the first time you’ve ever sold a biography of Dickens with a Griffin Sinclair autograph in the front of it!’
He hadn’t? He couldn’t have?
He had, she realised increduously as she saw the laughter in his eyes.
‘I doubt that has increased its value,’ she bit out waspishly.
‘Ouch!’ he murmured ruefully, his gaze lingering on her face. ‘But it’s good to see that, between the two of them, Charles and your father didn’t knock all the spirit and fun out of you.’ His expression was grim now, green eyes hard as the emeralds they resembled.
‘Neither Charles or my father ever raised a hand to me,’ she defended indignantly.
‘They didn’t need to,’ Griffin scorned. ‘Verbal abuse, in the form of constant put-downs in your case, can be as effective as a physical blow.’
Dora looked up at him wordlessly for several long seconds. But finally, seeing in his demeanour no hint of apology for what he’d just said, she turned away, before getting restlessly to her feet, needing to put some distance between the two of them.
‘You’re talking absolute nonsense,’ she dismissed impatiently. ‘Now I wish you would just state your reason for being here and then go.’ Because, as always, he was shaking her natural calm. And after the recent strain, she needed to hold on to that. ‘I’m sure your mother—for one—would not approve of your paying a visit to your brother’s exfiancée!’ Dora couldn’t resist making a dig of her own; Margaret had always disapproved of Griffin’s apparent familiarity with Dora in the past, and Dora had no reason to think it was any different now, even with Charles dead.
Griffin relaxed. ‘I’m sure my mother’s opinion—‘‘for one’’!—is of no interest to me!’
It had always amazed Dora in the past that it never had been of much interest to Griffin. Margaret Sinclair was tall and autocratic. Widowed while her children were all still quite young, she had taken over as the head of the family, seemingly without pause for mourning her husband’s demise.
Charles, as the eldest son, had been groomed for the family’s re-entry into the political arena his mother had loved so well. Charlotte, as the youngest child and only daughter, had been brought up to be a wife and mother—although she was neither of those things yet, as far as Dora was aware. Griffin, the second son and the middle child, was as different from his siblings as night was from day—his blond good looks against their darker colouring. He was also the rebel in the family, fitting into none of the careers Margaret would have liked him to follow.
It was a role, Dora had learnt after a very short acquaintance with the whole family, that Griffin nurtured and loved!
She gave him a rueful grimace. ‘How has she taken to your television career?’
He gave her a sideways glance, green gaze openly laughing. ‘What do you think?’ he drawled mockingly.
‘Oh, no.’ Dora laughed softly. ‘You aren’t going to draw me into that one!’ Although she could well imagine how Margaret had reacted to her middle child being on public television in a programme that, knowing Griffin, would be slightly less than serious. But, as in the past, Dora had every intention of keeping well out of the feud that existed between Griffin and his mother. Anyone caught in the middle of that animosity was likely to get trampled underfoot by one or both of them!
‘She’s horrified.’ Griffin cheerfully confirmed Dora’s suspicions, at the same time giving the impression—once again!—that his mother’s opinion was of no interest to him. ‘In fact,’ he continued dryly, ‘she was so angry with me when the first programme was televised that she didn’t speak to me for a month. That was the most peaceful month of my life!’ he added with feeling.
Dora gave another laugh, realising even as she did so that it was the first time for a very long time she had found anything to laugh about…
She sobered, feeling almost guilty at her humour now, with her father only dead a matter of days. And here, too, of all places, in the shop he had spent so much time in.
‘And yet,’ Dora murmured softly, ‘it’s you who she called when there was a family crisis.’ This last was said half questioningly; Margaret had always been so in control, so self-possessed, it was hard to imagine a situation she couldn’t deal with herself.
Griffin shrugged. ‘Mother hasn’t been quite her—autocratic self since Charles’s death.’ He frowned, as if he had only just realised that particular fact for himself. ‘In fact, it was that that caused the row between Mother and Charlotte.’
‘Charles’s death?’ Dora looked at him
